


Time Will Tell

by nicayal



Category: A Tale of Time City - Diana Wynne Jones, Kingdom Hearts, Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fuu/Fujin, Grief/Mourning, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Manhattan, New York City, Post-Divorce, Seifer - Freeform, September 11 Attacks, Svenska | Swedish, Terrorism, Time Travel, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3522725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicayal/pseuds/nicayal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**DISCONTINUED** By the time Roxas meets Axel, the simple, straightforward life he once enjoyed is already beginning to unravel. And that's before Roxas even has an inkling about the senseless tragedy to come - or how Axel himself might have been involved.</p><p>AkuRoku, KH/FF, TWEWY characters, A Tale of Time City universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to explore the world/concepts of two of my favorite speculative fiction stories ('A Tale of Time City' by Diana Wynne Jones and 'Flight of the Silvers', book one, by Daniel Price). You don't have to be familiar with either to understand what's going on in this fic. Anything that isn't overtly intuitive will get explained as we go along.
> 
> I own neither world mentioned above. Same for the characters referenced therein. Or the KH, FF, or TWEWY characters, come to think. Pretty much the only thing I do own associated with this story is the obscene amount of caffeine I ingested while writing it.
> 
> It's also not my intention to make light of 9/11 and I hope that becomes clearer as the story progresses. While I personally watched the events of 9/11 unfold, experienced the panic of the city I was living in completely shutting down after the news broke, I wasn't physically in Manhattan during the attack. I had friends who were though, and indirectly knew a couple of people who died that day. While I'm certainly using the attack as a catalyst for the purposes of this story, I mean no offense to anyone who was affected by this terrible event (and to them I extend my deepest sympathies for any losses they may have suffered).

_September 11, 2001_

The smoke was choking, raking at his already scorched throat. The shrieks were deafening as they made quick work in overwhelming his pre-adolescent senses. Frightened, the boy let out a wail, arms flailing in search of his mother. It ended in feeble, raspy coughs. And, while people fled in a panic all around him, no one familiar came to take him away with them.

Vision obscured by tears, dust, and other debris, eight year old Roxas Sorenson curled into himself, made a soft, mewling sound at the back of his throat, and began gently rocking himself in an effort to keep calm.

He heard rather than saw the first building fall in a deafening cacophony of sound. By then, the boy's eyes had been squeezed tightly shut, the only indication he was still aware of anything external hinted at by the soft tremors wracking his body, and the way he clung with desperation to his knees. He pressed them bruisingly against his chest more tightly every time someone bumped or brushed into him on their flight in the opposite direction. On the way to safety without him.

A subconscious part of himself knew he could die if he didn't get up and follow the crowd, but his more immediate concerns were muddled, confused by the lack of breathable air, and a raw, immobilizing panic.

Then, half conscious, he felt himself lifted, into strong, sure arms, pulled away from the horror and into something new, the absence of sound almost as deafening as the chaos he'd just been swept away from.

A soft, soothing voice met his ears, in accented, unfamiliar words. Its deep masculine undertones rumbled against his small body, and it took Roxas a moment to realize he was clinging so tightly to this person, his savior, that he was feeling the man's vocal vibrations as they traveled from his chest, then up and out of his throat.

A large hand with long slender fingers lightly stroked through his tangle of dust-caked hair. A softly smooth palm wiped still fresh tears away from his dirt-streaked face.

Roxas relaxed his grip marginally, tilted his head upward. This wasn't his mother. Not even close. But still, he wanted to look. He wanted to see who had taken notice of him and scooped him away from his nightmare when no one else had even noticed his distress.

It took effort to crack his eyes open even a sliver with the sticky crust of the day's horrors acting like adhesive against both sets of eyelids. Roxas unfurled one arm just enough to paw at his face with a small balled-up hand.

He looked up, squinted in the dimly lit confines of the shimmering, silvery space they were in. It was a stark contrast to the morning light he remembered enjoying with his mother on their way to the market before dust had risen up and engulfed everything in sight, had taken his  _mamma_  away from him.

What he saw …dazzled him.

Glittering purple diamonds. Hair as red as the toy fire engine his  _farfar_  had gotten him last Christmas. Green emerald eyes oddly flickering at the creases along both sides.

His vision swam before him, the man's features filtering in and out of focus. Roxas felt himself rocking again, this time from the man's gentle movements. He closed his eyes, exhausted from the trauma he'd experienced, still listening intently to the soft, soothing murmurs of the man above him.

" _Pax, custos. Veniet tempus, veniet_ …"

He remembered nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2: Premonitions

**Part I: Premonitions**

* * *

_"I'm in need of the answer, in search of the question, in love with being broken-hearted_

_Days race by faster, it's a made-up lesson and I'm lost before I've started_

_A little white lie, a big black sky, and emptiness open on the dashboard_

_You feel a lack of self and it's someone else telling you to try where you failed before..."_

"Time Go" - Caught a Ghost

* * *

_September 7, 2012_

_Brrrzt!_

Alarm blaring, Roxas opened his bleary eyes to pitch darkness, twisted onto his side and flailed an arm to shut the offending timer off. His arm had fallen asleep overnight, and his fingers felt fat and clumsy as he blindly tried to feel his way to the correct button. The noise stopped abruptly as a finger found its intended mark.

With a heavy, labored breath, the teen flopped onto his back, stared at a spot on the ceiling where he knew a crack that snaked halfway across the room originated, even if he couldn't see it in the room's current inky darkness. He concentrated on sharpening senses dulled from the last remnants of sleep. Pulling his arms to his chest, he grimaced a little as a static tingle of circulation began to return to one side.

Eyeing the clock with unconcealed spite, Roxas sighed, blinked his eyes repeatedly to try to force his body into a more acceptable level of wakefulness.

4:32. Hayner owed him so hard right now.

He stretched, the arch in his back taking on a cat-like quality, felt the joints in his elbows and knees crack, soft pops muffled under the sheets of his bed. Throwing the covers back, Roxas slid out of bed, thankful for the plush shaggy rug that met his bare feet. Even though it was still warm outside, the tail-end of summer's heat stickily clinging to every corner of the city proper, the concrete floors in his little apartment perpetually maintained a bone-chilling frigidity year-round.

Especially if it was four in the fucking morning. The sun wouldn't even start peeking over the rooftops of his Manhattan neighborhood for at least another hour.

Padding to the efficiency kitchen at the other end of the room, Roxas ran a hand through his hair. After a night of tossing and turning, his head was a tousled mess of blond, spiky tresses sticking out at odd angles that he could only hope water and some strategically styled hair product would adequately tame. It wasn't that he didn't have time for a shower so much as he didn't see the point in cleaning up only to have to do the same thing after he got home later, exhausted and sweaty from rushing around on his feet all day at work.

He grabbed a pot hanging from a silver hook on one wall, filled it with water from his sink, then set it on a 1950s-style stovetop to boil, bleary eyes traveling across the small area that encompassed almost the entirety of his living space while he tried to decide on his morning meal.

Coffee was definitely out. Although he loved the oversized french press his friend Olette had gotten him for his birthday last month, Roxas didn't think he could stomach even the smell of the drink with a full day of barista work ahead of him.

He did need caffeine if he was going to survive halfway through the cafe's morning rush though. Opening a nearby drawer, Roxas rifled through a selection of teas, some in individual bags, others loose-leaf, before settling on gunpowder green.

_Emerald green eyes._

He blinked, surprised by the image his mind had formed. Had he been having that dream last night again? If so, he hadn't realized it before now.

Sprinkling a handful of tea pellets into a spherical steeper, Roxas reached for an insulated mug. He dropped the steeper into the container, then moved it to the sink so he could pour boiling water into it without worrying about spills.

It was possible he'd been dreaming again, he conceded. The counselor he'd been seeing last year at his school's mental health services center had said it was a natural response to grief, that he had to be content to just let it run its course.

He still didn't understand why he saw himself as a young child in the midst of what seemed like nothing short of a cataclysm. His mother didn't even  _feature_  in the dream outside of his own childish desire to be saved by her. He always just saw red, and an indistinct face, a foreign voice.

Red hair. Green eyes. Sometimes silvery walls encircling them both.

His counselor had suggested that the odd-looking man might be a surrogate for his mother. Maybe that'd make sense to a Psychology major. It didn't to Roxas. He preferred the subjects studied in his dual majors of Political Science and History, personally. Which is also why he preferred not thinking about his dreams at all most of the time. History was tangible, concrete. It spread out in a linear direction from present to as far back as people had been recording it, memorializing everything from significant events to shopping lists on electronic disks, parchment, even clay tablets and cave walls.

The human mind though? Roxas was sure there was some measure of absolute knowledge about how it worked on a physiological level. It was his subconscious and the way it opted to manifest concerns he hadn't even realized he was worrying about that confused Roxas, turned him completely off, interest-wise. For Roxas, it inspired a healthy dose of skepticism whenever anyone claimed to be able to understand how that part of a person worked with any real accuracy.

Because he sure as hell didn't. He had more important things to deal with. Like keeping up with all of his new college classes this semester. Paying his bank account-crippling New York City rent. Getting to work on time too, come to think.

He turned off the stove, capped the mug, then plodded back to the bedroom area to get dressed. Despite the austere environment in which it was located, the cafe's dress code was relatively simple - pressed, dark pants and a crisp, white polo shirt. Roxas grabbed his last clean pair of both, making a mental note to get to the laundromat this weekend. This was how his semester was shaping itself up to look like, he thought a bit grouchily - Doing homework and washing dirty clothes while others his age were going out on the town. He was  _really_  spending the final year of his teens in style.

He supposed he could've asked one of his friends what they were up to this weekend, but if Roxas was being truly honest with himself, he was too tired to want to hang out lately anyway. He had a full schedule, usually worked thirty hours a week at the cafe alone. And, because he was certifiably crazy, he'd also applied for a research assistant position that had opened up in the History department during the first week of school. If he got that, he could tack another fifteen hours of work to his schedule, at minimum. All for a shot at getting into a good law school, maybe even making something of himself.

It was probably safe to say he was running on empty in terms of energy. And the school year had only just begun…

Throwing on his clothing, Roxas grabbed his wallet and keys, stuffing both in alternate pants pockets, before retrieving his mug and making his way out into the dark streets of New York, heading toward the nearest subway station. With luck, today would go quickly, and he would be grateful that he'd agreed swap shifts with Hayner so he could be done earlier. Or he could just end up wanting to strangle every complaining customer in sight hours before he usually did. One or the other.

Time, he guessed, would tell.

o - o

The World Trade Center's food court, located on the 107th floor of the South Tower, was styled in a subway theme, something Roxas found considerably ironic. As with most longtime Manhattanites, the subway system was no novelty for Roxas; he rode it every day to get to work and school. But the people who generally visited this floor of 2 WTC were tourists, the floor on which Roxas worked having been set up as one of the few spaces open for public viewing. So, a subway theme it was then, apparently iconic of the Big Apple, plus an observation deck that overlooked the span of the city along with a few kiosks where tourists and workers could buy food, including the bakery-themed cafe where Roxas himself worked.

And lots of running, screaming kids. Every-freaking-where. Clinging to their parents. Shrieking for food. Pulling their siblings' hair. All the damn time, without foreseeable end. It was really too bad security didn't screen out the seriously noisy ones, for the sake of everyone else's sanity.

It was enough to make Roxas beyond jealous of the regulars, those who actually worked in the South Tower and patronized his kiosk in the mornings before work and in the evenings prior to leaving. These people had real jobs, work that didn't involve all too often having to play mediator with children too small to be effectively reasoned with while their parents faked obliviousness or — worse still — thought their kids' antics were  _cute_.

By the time Hayner showed up to start his shift several hours after Roxas himself had arrived, Roxas was starting to understand on an intimate level why some animals chose to eat their young rather than raise them through to adulthood.

Noticing Roxas' dark expression, Hayner didn't bother with pleasantries as he ducked under the kiosk's divider and joined Roxas behind the counter. Surveying the floor with a quick scan of his eyes, the teen snatched up a clean work apron and proceeded to tie it securely behind his back.

"I'm guessing just saying thanks for swapping shifts with me isn't enough to make up for this shitstorm," he said, voice rising to speak over a boisterous yowling nearby that sounded to Roxas more like an otherworldly banshee than an actual toddler. How something that small could make noises so …just,  _not_ … surpassed Roxas' current patience levels and ability to comprehend.

"You guess right," he said testily as he moved to refill a cup of coffee for a waiting patron. Passing the steaming cup back across the counter, Roxas turned and took a deep breath.

_Be calm. Find your zen place …and other inefficacious bullshit like that._

"I'm going to have a migraine for a week after today," he groaned. "I thought it'd get less crowded once school was back in session."

Hayner took the next customer's order, retrieving a muffin with a pair of silver tongs, then depositing it in a small oven to heat up at their request.

"The weather's still nice, so maybe that's why," he said. "And, I dunno, maybe the school year's different in other countries or something."

Roxas nodded distractedly, noting the myriad of languages being spoke throughout the floor with minimal interest. Hayner was probably right.

The oven timer went off, a shrill sound that was nothing short of soothingly melodic compared to the other sounds Roxas' poor ears were having to endure at the moment.

"Speaking of nice weather," Hayner said as he pulled out the muffin and handed it off to the waiting patron on the other side of the counter, "it is way too nice to not have plans this weekend, and I haven't seen you outside of work in, like, forever. Are you doing anything?"

Roxas shook his head. Beyond homework and laundry, he hadn't really thought much past simply trying to survive this current shift. The things he did for a minimum wage paycheck…

"We should all figure something out then. Who knows how many more nice days we'll have before the weather gets shitty."

Roxas shrugged a little. "I'm up for anything," he said. "What did you have in mind?"

Hayner scratched the back of his neck, looking momentarily contemplative. "I was kinda hoping you had a good idea."

Roxas moved to the register as another customer approached. "I can hardly hear my own thoughts right now," he called out over his shoulder before turning to take the newcomer's order. Once he'd rung them up, he returned to Hayner's side to complete the order. "I'll think about it when I get home later, how about?"

He really didn't have any intention of giving it much thought, in honesty, but Hayner didn't need to know that. With luck, his friend would find other plans and he'd be off the hook with having to be social for the foreseeable future.

"Yeah, cool. Just text me if anything comes to you. It'd be fun to meet up."

Roxas nodded, hoping the action didn't come off as too unenthused. "Ditto."

For the next two hours, both boys fielded various orders, and somehow survived noise levels on par with a death metal concert. During a relative lull in business — and, mercifully, also in noise levels — Hayner turned to Roxas.

"Cover me for a sec? I need a bathroom break."

"Okay." Roxas nodded his assent, watching his friend duck out of the kiosk and over to the nearest restroom as he moved to wash his own hands in a sink along the kiosk's back wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roxas saw two more customers approach. "Be right with you," he called, reaching for a towel to dry his hands with.

"No rush," an accented voice replied back. Its resonant tone sent a prickle of nebulous sensation up Roxas's spine, making him pause and glance at the newcomers out of the corner of his eye.

They were a pair of men, both tall but starkly different in appearance from one another. One had shaggy, sandy blond hair, buzzed short in what to Roxas seemed like random places on his head. His overall expression had a good-natured quality to it, from the looks of the unconscious hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Leaning forward, the guy was surveying the offerings within the kiosk's glass case of baked sweets.

The other man gave Roxas more of a pause.

He was taller than his companion. Tall and thin, although Roxas noted the supple line of an outer arm muscle before it disappeared beneath the sleeve of the man's shirt with concealed appreciation. The man's hair was dark brown, tied back in a ponytail at the base of his head. Matching brown eyes moved upward, as this second patron read the kiosk menu above Roxas' head, then traveled slowly downward until they fixed themselves on Roxas himself.

Then he turned, looking out at his surroundings for a moment before returning his attention to Roxas. "Nice view you've got up here," he said.

Roxas nodded in agreement. Yeah, it definitely wasn't bad, especially with the guy standing in his direct line of sight…

The two looked at one another for a prolonged moment before the man offered him a polite smile and turned to speak to his friend.

"Do you know what you want?"

That accent. Roxas quirked his head, trying to place it. There was such a familiar quality to it that he had to stop himself from asking the pair if they were Swedish. While it felt like he'd heard a similar speech pattern somewhere, someplace, from someone before, it wasn't quite like the way he remembered his grandfather's voice sounding when he'd spoken to others in English during Roxas' childhood.

His certainty only grew when the blond replied.

"The blueberry filled scone, probably."

Yeah, definitely not Swedish, Roxas silently confirmed. And, now that he'd had the chance to get a better look at the pair, he realized they couldn't be more than a few years older than than he and Hayner. It'd been their tall statures that had initially made him assume they were older. Their faces hinted at early adulthood though, no longer filled with the roundness of adolescence but neither sported the haggard expressions he was so familiar with seeing on adult customer faces throughout the day either. And, although both sounded vaguely British, it didn't quite fit since neither sounded totally fluent in the English words they were speaking. In a way, it was kind of weird they were even speaking English to one another, Roxas thought. Most foreign customers generally just ignored him, speaking among themselves in their native language right up until they actually placed their order with him.

The second man met his eyes again, this time expectantly. Roxas knew that look well. He stepped forward toward the register to take their order just as Hayner reappeared.

"A blueberry scone for him," the man repeated, inclining his head toward the sandy blond.

Roxas nodded, both at the man and toward Hayner to indicate he had this one as he made his way back into the confines of the kiosk. Skirting around his friend, Roxas moved toward the shelf housing the scones. "And for you?" he asked, simultaneously speaking and retrieving the requested pastry as he looked up toward the register.

Brown eyes almost seemed to sparkle in response. "Your name would be a good start."

It'd been so unanticipated, such a surprise, that Roxas faltered between the dueling actions of maintaining eye contact with the man and handing the scone over to his companion. He failed miserably at both, first fumbling the scone, which tumbled out of his hands and made an audible, squelching thud upon impact with the floor, then dropping his gaze at he stared at the mess he'd just made in wordless embarrassment.

Behind him, Hayner snorted. "His name's Roxas," he offered, "and he's usually not this big of a klutz."

Oh god. Shoot him dead now. Or, better yet,  _shoot Hayner_  for finding this amusing.

"Sorry," Roxas said, voice cracking slightly just to add insult to mortifying injury. "I'll get you another one."

Sidestepping the sugary mess he'd just made, Roxas practically dove head-first back into the sweets case, making a stabbing motion with the tongs as he secured another scone for the blond guy.

"Roxas," the second man said, expression contemplative, a smile playing subtly across his lips. "That's an unusual name. It's Latin, right?"

"I ...don't actually know." Roxas offered the man a sheepish look as he carefully transferred the scone into the blond's waiting hands across the counter.

The man's grin widened as though he found the admission somehow humorous. Off to one side, Roxas noted Hayner's gaze moving judiciously between the two of them, like he was working through something in his head. That was generally never a good thing, in Roxas' experience.

"Just a small coffee for me," the man said, forcing Roxas' attention back to the matter at hand. "And," he continued, resting his forearms on the countertop as he leaned toward Roxas, "I was hoping you might have some suggestions for things to do during our visit. We've only just arrived." Nearby, his friend was already taking the first bites of his scone, back half-turned away from the kiosk as he took in the view out the area's floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I've got the coffee!" Hayner jumped into action, snatching up a cup before Roxas could even think to slink away to complete the order himself.

Freaking Hayner. Seriously. What had gotten into him today?

"Uh..." Roxas stammered. "I mean, there's the Empire State Building and, um, the...Statue of Liberty?"

God, why was he at a loss for words now when he'd had zero problems answering questions of a similar nature all day? It had to be sleep deprivation, or something related.

It couldn't be because the guy who was asking happened to be incredibly, undeniably fucking gorgeous... _agh_.

The man's blond companion turned back toward the kiosk, apparently keen to join the conversation. "We were kind of hoping for a more authentic New York experience, if you know what I mean?"

Hayner practically skipped back up to the register, coffee cup contents sloshing perilously close to the rim. "We both have the weekend off," he said, looking meaningfully at the taller of the pair. By his side, Roxas felt his entire body heat up as he realized what his friend was planning to do. He attempted to elbow the boy into silence but Hayner adeptly sidestepped, sliding the coffee toward the man before continuing on, determinedly ignoring the warning look in his friend's eyes.

"And Roxas is about as close to a native as there is. I mean, I think he was born in Jersey but there's no reason to hold that against him."

Both men seemed to be watching the exchange keenly, while Roxas bit the inside of his cheek to avoid acting on the homicidal thoughts now directed at his friend.

"We don't want to impose," the darker haired man said, a ghost of a smile still present on his features. As he spoke, he slid one hand into his pocket, pulling out a bill and laying it next to the register in front of Roxas. Grateful to have something -  _anything_  - to do apart from look like a stammering idiot in front of a hot pair of guys while he was supposed to be working, Roxas hurried to ring up the order, unable to help himself from stealing another glance at the taller patron in the process.

 _Real smooth_.

He handed over the receipt at the same moment the man resumed speaking. "But if you both do happen to be free," he said, looking from one barista to another before taking his receipt, turning it over, and reaching for a pen on the kiosk's countertop, "consider giving us a call." He jotted down a string of numbers in elegant, curving script before straightening, and watching as Roxas retrieved the slip of paper, eyes scanning the provided number.

And, he realized, also a name.

"Axel," Hayner read over Roxas' shoulder.

"And Demyx here," the blond raised his hand and offered a small wave, which Roxas hesitantly returned.

As Axel stepped away from the register, another customer took his place, calling out a rapid-fire order that had Roxas hurrying to fill. By the time he looked up again, the pair was gone, and it was just him and Hayner, and another hour to burn before his final shift for the week came to an end.

His weekend though? Contrary to what Roxas had first assumed, it seemed like that, at least, was going to begin with something different. Someone new...

...whether he wanted it to or not.


	3. Chapter 3

_September 8, 2012_

His cell phone lay on the kitchen counter, seemingly innocuous as its battery charged.

Roxas knew better.

From across the room, he glared at it, half-convinced of its sentience, that its smooth, glossy screen was in the active process of mocking him despite its present inactive state.

He'd texted the number Axel had jotted down for him almost two hours ago, a simple inquiry as to the visitors' interest in meeting up for food and drinks later that night. A response had yet to come back to him, and it was driving Roxas half crazy with distraction from what he was actually meant to be focusing on.

He realized he'd specifically been instructed to call; he'd returned to the exchange that had taken place at his workplace yesterday more times than he was comfortable admitting, even just to himself. And there was a chance the tourists wouldn't have access to text messaging services while visiting a different country. Roxas knew that. There was still something he found intimidating about the idea of having to speak to a guy who looked like Axel over the phone, especially when he didn't have a good proposal for exactly where they could go together as a group tonight.

There was also the part where he couldn't be sure if Axel had actually been flirting with him or if he was just a supremely friendly guy simply looking for a tour guide. Sure, Roxas knew what Hayner believed had been going on between the two of them yesterday. That didn't mean it had any basis in reality.

Fiddling with a cuticle on one finger while returning his gaze with determination to one of his history books laid out before him on his bed, Roxas sighed, tried to renew focus on the assigned readings for his Early Civilizations course. At least he hadn't had sleep disturbances last night, he thought, as he flipped from a chapter on Ancient China to one outlining the rise of Mesopotamian societies in the Early Bronze Age. That would have absolutely derailed his ability to study even more than his current obsession with his cell phone was managing to right now.

He settled in, resting on his stomach, knees bent and feet dangling in the air behind him as he read an introductory paragraph. Maybe it was geeky, but Roxas liked reading about the past, envisioning what life must have been like in ancient cities like Kish and Ur. To him, historical politics were a guilty pleasure, akin to his friend Olette's unabashed love of terrible soap operas and trashy reality television shows, or even Hayner's obsession with professional sports.

If only his dreams aligned more with those interests, took him to far-off places and times. That actually wouldn't be half-bad, he mused. Instead, his unconscious always seemed to opt for B-movie quality action scenes, where instead of even getting to play the hero, Roxas was relegated to the role of a whining, sniveling youth more interested in finding his mom than saving a city very obviously in distress.

The jarring sound of metal vibrating on a formica countertop pulled Roxas out of his thoughts. He looked up from his textbook, over toward the kitchen.

The screen on his cell phone was momentarily lit up to its notification screen, illuminating everything within a six inch radius of it in the inadequate natural light of his studio's kitchen area.

Roxas leapt up immediately, sprinted eagerly over to the counter. If he hadn't been alone in the privacy of his own home, he might've had the good sense to feel embarrassed about the fervor he'd just put into the movement. That rang especially true considering how unenthused he'd been about leaving his apartment this weekend in the first place …prior to yesterday's workplace encounter, at least.

Seizing the phone and separating it from its charger, Roxas clicked the power button, moving past the lock screen in record time.

…only to see a text from Hayner, asking about the plans for tonight.

Damn, Roxas thought, feeling a prickle of irritation. This giddy schoolgirl routine he'd been perpetuating all morning was starting to get ridiculous.

 _I haven't heard back from them yet_ , he texted in response, elbows resting on his kitchen counter, unconsciously mimicking the position the taller of the two men had taken yesterday, right before he'd went and gotten Roxas all flustered, and made him want to…

The phone lit up again almost immediately, vibrating as a call came through.

…a call from Hayner.

With only a moment's hesitation, Roxas accepted it, turning on the speakerphone.

"Dude," Hayner's voice crackled to life over the connection, "you  _texted_  them?"

Roxas sighed, propping his chin up on his hands. He'd had a feeling this was why Hayner had decided to call instead of continuing with their conversation via text.

"I didn't want to bother them in case they were out sightseeing," he said, feeling both defensive and more than a little lame for using such a transparent excuse.

"Bullshit you didn't," Hayner scoffed from across the line. "I saw how you two were looking at each other yesterday. You're just being a chickenshit because you think he's  _haaaw_ —"

"Fine! Okay, fine," Roxas cut him off before he could get the last word entirely out. Feeling flustered, he raked his free hand through a tangle in his hair. "I'll call now."

On the other end of the line, Hayner made an unintelligible but skeptical sound.

"It's not like I can call anyway when I'm on the phone with you." Roxas shot a withering scowl at a kitchen appliance within his direct line of sight, using it as a surrogate for his annoyance in his friend's physical absence. Christ almighty.

"Right." He heard Hayner laugh. "That's totally the reason you've been stalling all morning."

"Urgh! Bye." Roxas made a frustrated growl as he dropped the call, his friend's laughter still ringing in his ears. Hayner didn't get it, he told himself, trying to mentally dodge the truth in his friend's teasing words.

That, at least, was maybe half correct. His friend had been seeing Olette since high school, hadn't had to worry about dating etiquette since the tenth freaking grade. Roxas, on the other hand…

He padded back over to his bed, phone in hand, stomach a mess of edgy nerves. This really shouldn't be such a hard thing to do. Really, really. It was just a simple phone call.

But there was also that whole not being straight thing that vastly complicated the dating game, even in a city as progressive and generally accepting as Manhattan. That didn't necessarily make it easier to actually  _find_  people to date if you were gay. Or thought you might be, Roxas supposed. It wasn't like he'd ever seriously dated anyone to know for sure. Not really. The quick flings with a handful of girls in high school didn't count, as far as he was concerned.

It'd just always been a feeling he'd had since all the way back to high school during freshman year, some innate understanding that he was different from his friends in that regard …one that, thanks to the events of yesterday, Roxas was kind of wishing he hadn't admitted to Hayner in a moment of vulnerability about a year ago now. Not that Hayner had seemed to have a problem with it. It'd just changed things, Roxas felt, created a nearly indistinguishable divide, one that going to different colleges and choosing vastly different majors had only managed to expand, however subtly.

Now his friend was apparently trying to play matchmaker. How was it possible to even  _know_  if the visitors were gay, as Hayner so staunchly seemed to assume? It wasn't like people pranced around with glittery headbands and billowing rainbow capes to announce their orientations.

Well, he conceded, except maybe during Pride weekend.

Plopping down, Roxas pushed his textbook away and sat, back bracing his bed's headboard, knees curled up toward his chest as he fingered the edges of his phone uncertainly. He pulled up the text he'd sent to Axel, reread it once, twice, a third time, before finally clicking on the contact number and placing the phone hesitantly up to his ear.

It rang once, twice, connecting mid-way through the third ring.

"Yes?" The voice had an expectant quality to it.

He also realized a split second later that it wasn't Axel who had answered the call.

"Uh, hi …Demyx?" The blond's name sounded even odder when spoken out loud than it had all the times over the past twelve hours that Roxas had referenced it in his head. "I was wonder—I mean, it's Roxas." The words came out in a stammered rush, and Roxas felt a blush begin to creep into the far ends of his cheeks at the realization of just how fucking  _awkward_  he sounded.

A silent pause extended through to him from across the line.

"From the cafe yesterday," Roxas supplemented, feeling his embarrassment swell at the thought that the encounter might not have even been remembered. "A-Axel gave me your guys' number."

"Ah!" Finally, Demyx's voice burst to life. "You're the barista, right?"

"Right," Roxas echoed, exhaling a relieved breath of air.

"Cool! I'm putting you on speaker."

Roxas heard a muffled shuffling across the line, as though the phone was being moved, then placed somewhere central. He heard Demyx call for Axel, felt a heat begin to pulse in his chest at the mention of the taller man's name.

"So,  _Roxas_!" Demyx said, returning to the line. "You want to give us a local's introduction to this city?"

"Yeah," Roxas said, feeling a bit tongue-tied. How dumb did it sound to just reply to things in one word sentences? His thoughts flashed back to an image of a schoolgirl, fawning over a high school crush. Pathetic.

Unaware of Roxas' self-flagellatory thoughts, Demyx chattered on. "What did you have in mind? We're open to anything."

Errrr…shit. This was always the part he got stuck on. What the crap did people his age do in this city? He hadn't had much time to find out since graduating high school, starting college, getting a job, and other…things. Before that, it'd been really juvenile stuff, meeting up at friends' houses to study, maybe going out to a movie once in awhile to waste some allowance money. One time, they'd all gone to an off-Broadway production for Olette's birthday. But their parents had come along too. Did that count?

Yeah, sure, in the way that lame-ass outings could still technically be considered outings. Roxas quickly ruled movies and stage productions out.

Perhaps sensing Roxas' uncertainty, Axel's voice rang out over the line, quieter than Demyx's as though he were speaking from a farther distance away from the phone. "I've heard the club scene is good here."

"It is, yeah," Roxas was quick to respond, relieved to be thrown any kind of bone.

At least, he stopped to consider, he assumed it was. He'd never actually gone to one, wasn't even sure if any were open to people under twenty-one.

"We both like to drink and dance." Axel's voice was lilting, resonate. "Would you be interested in doing something like that?"

"Sure. That sounds like fun."

From his spot on the bed, Roxas nervously bounced his legs a little, then swallowed hard. One, he wasn't old enough to legally drink. And, two, he was pretty sure he danced like shit. Oh god, why had he just said that?!

" _Nifla_!" Demyx's voice returned to the line, apparently pleased with Roxas' answering reply.

At least, that's what it sounded like Demyx had said. It was the first obviously foreign word he'd heard either man utter since meeting them. And, now that he'd heard it, Roxas felt even sillier about initially having thought either might have been a Swede. The word was unfamiliar to him, in both its inflection and implication.

Instead of remaining on the line feeling like a mute dumbass, Roxas forced his thoughts back to the topic at hand. "I'm going to see if some friends can join us. If you give me an address for your hotel, we can meet you tonight around nine." That should give him enough time to do some research about clubs online that might be feasible to visit. Hopefully, anyway.

Axel spoke again, this time reciting an address that Roxas committed to memory. Then they said their good-byes, the connection persisting in silence for a few seconds before Roxas heard it drop as someone on the other end of the line hung up.

For a moment, he remained in place, upright in bed, phone screen once again dark and unimposing in the sweaty palm of his hand. Part of him was embarrassed, utterly mortified by how the conversation had played out, even if neither man had seemed to notice his awkwardness. Another part entirely was wondering what he'd just gotten himself into, and just how far this little outing was going to set him behind with the work he actually needed to get done this weekend.

Whether he liked it or not though, Roxas was officially going to be playing Manhattan nightlife tour guide in a few hours' time. Pursing his lips a little, still not entirely sure how he felt about that thought, Roxas reached forward, sliding his textbook closer with the vague notion that he should get back to studying.

Axel's voice lingered as Roxas reached for a pen and some notepaper, writing down the address that had just been proffered. Compared to the curved, almost sophisticated lines of Axel's own handwriting, Roxas' letters were sharper, boxy blocks that were completely inelegant, in his mind.

Then, before he allowed himself to return to his readings, Roxas looked to the phone once again, accessed his recent messages, and texted Hayner the information he'd just been given before there was any chance for him to forget.

o - o

Emerging from the underground metro station closest to the address Axel had given him, Roxas took off in a sprint. Under his breath, he quietly swore.

He'd texted Hayner a warning en route that he was running late, but that didn't change the fact that he was furious with himself. He'd claimed it was an unexpected phone call that had been the culprit, but Roxas had gotten off the phone with his grandfather over an hour prior. It'd been the aimless pacing, back and forth within the cramped confines of his studio, that had really caused his current delay.

Apart from things like dreams being completely out of his control, he'd been so good lately, he thought angrily. About not getting too overwhelmed. About not freaking out or emotionally breaking down. The simple fact that he hadn't anticipated his grandpa's call had thrown him off, forced him to focus on responsibilities he was much happier pretending didn't exist. And, before he had gotten a chance to really think any of it through, Roxas had found himself agreeing to a visit with his  _farfar_  Sorenson on Sunday.

Because he totally didn't have anything else that desperately needed to get done on his last free day off this side of next week.

But Roxas had ultimately promised to visit, then hung up and quickly hopped into the shower. The next thing he became aware of was his own restless pacing, bare feet treading unfeeling, wet hair dripping all over the icy, tiled kitchen floor.

Just missing the walk sign at a stoplight, Roxas ground to an abrupt, frustrated halt. These weren't the kinds of things he could talk to Hayner about. No way. There wasn't really anyone to talk to now that he'd stopped seeing his school-appointed counselor. Like any other adult living with their own private emotional dramas, Roxas knew he just had to deal with it and try harder to move on. Because, by now, he was pretty sure that's what everyone expected him to do anyway.

He fidgeted in place, stuffed a hand into his pocket, feeling for his wallet as he tried to ignore the crush of everyone else milling about around him. The worn leather square was smooth from years of use, one of the only things he'd kept that had belonged to his father before he'd left for San Francisco. If he were stronger, Roxas thought, he'd have thrown it away years ago. Instead, he'd kept it close, for everyday use, as though clinging to inanimate objects like these made up for flesh and bone, the actual souls who'd gone missing from his life with such frequency of late.

The light turned green and Roxas was off again, dodging around other pedestrians as he traveled the remaining few blocks to his destination in record time. As he turned onto one final street and caught sight of his group, Roxas slowed, body suddenly bothering to remind him of his earlier nerves. He walked at a normal pace for the rest of the way, trying to calm the heaving, uneven breaths prompted by his sprint from the subway.

The tourists were standing, their backs facing him, apparently engaged in conversation with the rest of his group, giving Roxas a moment to mentally prepare himself. And, okay fine, taking in the well-defined lines of both figures without being noticed was also a pretty nice perk.

Man, if only he had a few more inches on him, Roxas thought, now acutely aware of his own modest height. He felt like a veritable kid compared to both foreigners, something he didn't particularly want either taking note of. There was nothing sexy about someone hot thinking you looked like elementary school jailbait.

Olette spotted him first, face lighting up with recognition. Standing between Hayner on one side and their mutual friend Pence on the other, Olette shot Roxas a smile from afar.

At least he wasn't the only short person in the group, Roxas thought, taking in Pence's more …horizontally-inclined figure, he guessed was a nice way to put it, as he approached. Olette was small too, although, being a girl, he decided she didn't really count. Standing a few inches taller than him, Hayner was still a full head shorter than Demyx in Roxas' estimation. Apparently Europeans were just made tall, assuming that's where these guys were from.

As though sensing his presence, Roxas saw Axel turn. Again, dark eyes regarded him in a way Roxas wasn't quite sure how to interpret. It seemed more meaningful than mere observation. Was he being appraised? Something else? Whatever the case, it flustered him something awful. Roxas found himself looking away almost bashfully at first.

"You finally made it." Hayner raised his eyebrows, grinning at the non-verbal exchange he'd just witnessed. Unlike with Axel, Roxas had no difficulty interpreting what his friend seemed hellbent on conveying with his own body language.

Forcing himself to stay on point and not let his friend's antics distract him tonight, Roxas forced a smile, made his expression adequately apologetic. "Yeah. Sorry for the hold-up. My grandpa can really talk my ear off when he gets going."

Both Axel and Demyx smiled politely, Demyx inclining his head a little in acknowledgement. Hayner rolled his eyes. "Family," he said to the group as a whole. "Kind of sucks to live in the same area as them sometimes."

Yeah, especially when you were specifically trying to avoid one member in particular, Roxas thought. Talk about chickenshit.

Roxas swallowed tightly, trying to keep his thoughts from drifting down that emotionally exhausting path. Now most definitely wasn't the time for it.

"Anyway," Hayner continued. "Let's get going." He turned back to Roxas. "You said this club was only a few stops away?"

Nodding, Roxas returned his hands to his pockets. "It's a few blocks away from Eight Av on the L. The place is called Vessel."

"C'mon then," Hayner said. He reached for Olette's hand and started leading the group in the direction of the underground metro station, Roxas taking up the rear. He looked down, studying the shoes and sidewalk in front of him. Unbidden, the feeling of acute anxiety returned as he remembered the mindset he'd been in at his apartment after his grandfather's call.

Pence fell back, stepped into place by Roxas' side. "This outing saved me from an evening of some real housewives TV marathon thing with Olette," he said, ambling along at the pace Roxas had set. "I owe you my deepest gratitude for getting me out of that one."

"Mm." Roxas found himself only half listening as Pence talked on about Olette's obsession with more superficial elements of the entertainment industry. They'd all been friends since grade school. With Hayner having no compunction about verbalizing his refusal to watch what he termed 'trash telly', and with Roxas living too far away to generally fall victim to Olette's guilt trips, soft-spoken, pushover Pence often found himself at Olette's every reality show-related whim more often than not. It wasn't the first time Roxas was grateful he'd opted out of rooming with his friends. Beyond the fact that their location would take him twice as long to get to school and work as his currently location already did, he found he liked living on his own. Hopefully, he'd continue being able to afford to.

Seeming to finally notice Roxas' somber mood, Pence trailed off midway through an explanation about Olette's preference for a-line over pencil skirts on America's Next Top Something-or-Another.

"Everything okay?" he asked, voice lowered so it wouldn't carry up the line to either the tourists or the rest of their friends.

"I guess." Roxas nodded, eyes still trained on the ground. Idly, he rubbed the soft leather of his father's wallet between two fingers inside his pocket. "I've just got a lot on my mind right now is all."

"Maybe I should rephrase," Pence said. "I know what day is coming up, and I just wanted to know if you're going to  _be_  okay. If you want some company on Monday, I can skip out on classes. We could go get lunch or just tool around somewhere. No big. Whatever you need."

Glancing up, Roxas met his friend's gaze out of the corner of his eye. The hard knot in his throat seemed to tighten as he forced himself to take in a breath of air. A moment later, he exhaled and felt some of the tension release, allowing him to speak once more. "Thanks. Really. I'll be fine though. I've got school and work to keep me busy."

Pence slowed, a look of surprise appearing across his face. "You're not going to go visit?"

Roxas shook his head. "I wasn't planning to," he said. He squeezed his father's wallet hard, winced as one of his fingernails bent back slightly at the force of the movement. "I have too much going on. And it's not like she'll notice anyway," he added, voice soft. What he'd said was technically true, but it still didn't make him feel any less douchey for admitting it.

Pence looked skeptical from beneath his shock of dark hair but quickly schooled his expression to something more suitably neutral. Idly, he swiped at the headband that seemed to be a permanent fixture of his daily wardrobe, pushing it up further on his forehead and away from his eyes. It wasn't really clubbing attire, but Pence wasn't generally the club-going type. Hayner and Olette were at least wearing clothing more suitable for going out, as were Axel and Demyx, their dark jeans complemented by tucked in button-up shirts of dark red and navy blue.

That was Pence though, Roxas thought, always a little oblivious about how he came off to others around him. He was honest to a fault, never telling Olette he was busy when he just didn't want to go shopping or watch television with her. He'd also acted as the voice of reason more than once when Hayner had been dead-set on engaging in questionable behavior or antics he liked to refer to as adventures. It'd led to Hayner calling Pence a wuss on more than one occasion, but it didn't change the fact that practical, circumspect Pence's advice or warnings generally tended to be right in the end.

And Roxas… Roxas figured he fell somewhere in the middle, not as big of a daredevil as Hayner but definitely not usually feeling too broken up about telling Olette he had other things to do when she wanted to gossip about celebrities or talk fashion advice.

"Okay," Pence said finally. "Still, call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Sure." With a nod, Roxas increased his pace, forcing Pence to speed up as well, until both fell into line next to Demyx and Axel. Axel looked over, sent Roxas a smile that only served to increase the fluttering nerves at his stomach's center. Then they were entering the subway, en route to dancing and drinks, and, Roxas couldn't help but hope, adequate other ways to distract himself. At least until he had to remember again come morning.

o - o

Set in the heart of the Meat Packing District, Vessel was a dance club that had been carved out of an old warehouse space. It was also one of the few clubs that Roxas had been able to locate that let in patrons under the age of twenty-one. Once an entirely industrial, high crime area near Manhattan's waterfront, in recent decades the neighborhood had given rise to more affluent establishments, Vessel among them. Olette called the pricey little storefronts boutiques. Roxas personally thought it was just a fancier way of admitting that hipsters had taken over the area almost completely in the last few years, rendering some street blocks virtually unrecognizable from the historical photos he'd once sifted through at a local library for a high school research project a few years back.

That was sort of the rub of history though, he thought, eyes scanning the area immediately outside of the club. Everything was always changing.

They paid the cover and made it past the bouncer without issue, Roxas and his friends receiving red wristbands to indicate that they were under the legal drinking age. Axel and Demyx had both been handed green ones, although, not having seen the documentation they'd supplied upon entering, Roxas realized he still didn't know exactly how old either of them actually was.

On a Saturday night, the club felt pretty packed, despite its considerable size. The majority of club-goers were congregated on the main level's dance floor, strobes above them bathing dancers in an erratic, ever-changing spectrum of fluorescent light.

Demyx made a beeline toward the bar and lounge area on a raised platform on the club's far side, indicating the others should follow with a beckoning wave of his hand. The music's volume was so loud to his unaccustomed senses, Roxas could feel each successive, rhythmic beat at the base of his throat. He swallowed, grateful the feeling wasn't too reminiscent of what he'd been feeling during his earlier conversation with Pence, then slid into place immediately behind Hayner.

Once at the bar, Demyx looked back at the four teenagers. "What do you all want?"

Each ordered, then received a soda in turn as Demyx passed the drinks on back. Hayner pulled out his wallet to offer Demyx payment for their portion of the order, but the blond just waved them off. "I'll get the first round," he said, voice carrying over the noise of music and conversations with impressive range.

He led them over to an area of the lounge with standing tables, weaving his way through the crush of people with a lot less difficulty than Roxas found himself able to manage the same. It might've been the height difference. Or maybe Demyx and Axel were simply just that comfortable in settings like this. Either way, Roxas breathed a sigh of relief when they ultimately found a table another group had just vacated, realizing he'd managed to make it out of the bar space without spilling half of his drink in the process.

By the time they all congregated around the table, Demyx was already mostly finished with his drink, a cocktail that gave off a pink sheen even in the dimmer lighting in this area of the club. Roxas took a place next to Axel, noting that the taller man had chosen some sort of dark beer as his drink of choice. Though less crowded than the bar or dance floor, people still jostled into him on their way past, causing Roxas to brush his shoulder against the left side of Axel's arm on occasion. Once in awhile, he felt the man brush into him as well, although the lingering nature of the action seemed far more deliberate. Almost controlled.

Thank god for the crappy lighting, at least, Roxas thought as he took a sip of his Sprite with lime. It lowered the chances of Axel noticing the embarrassing flush of color creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

They chatted about mostly mundane things for awhile, from the weather to some of the sights Axel and Demyx had already visited over the past few days. Frustratingly, it was mostly a back and forth between Demyx and Hayner, with Axel and Olette supplementing on occasion. Along with Pence, Roxas found himself mostly mute, just listening, despite the several pointed looks Hayner had been shooting his way.

What was he supposed to do, Roxas thought, annoyed. He could hardly hear the others in this din. How was he supposed to hold on a conversation with Axel, let alone manage to flirt short of doing something totally slutty to get the man's attention?

After a time, Demyx and Hayner left for more drinks, returning with considerably more than what Roxas assumed Demyx would be drinking on his own, even if Axel stepped in to help.

Sure enough, Hayner and Olette took two of the drinks. "Want one?" Demyx asked, directing the question at Roxas and Pence across the table. "This country's age limit is so stupidly high. You can drive and vote years before drinking. What's going on with that?"

Roxas shrugged, but just as quickly declined. By his side, he noted the vehement way Pence was shaking his head.

"Yeah, it's pretty lame," Hayner said, downing his drink in two easy swigs. By his side, Olette lifted the new drink glass to her lips and sipped with a bit more restraint.

"Why?" Pence said, looking toward Demyx, his voice nearly lost in the sea of noise. "What's the drinking age in your country?"

Demyx exchanged a glance with Axel, then offered the group a toothy grin. "Not twenty-one, that's for sure." He plunked his empty glass down on their table, then rubbed his hands together with a look of anticipation. "Dancing now? Anyone want to join?"

Again, Pence started to shake his head, opened his mouth most likely to bow out, but Hayner cut him off. "Yeah, that'd be cool. Come on, Pence. You too."

"I'm not— I mean, I don't think that's such a good id—" Pence started to protest. Before he could finish, Olette had grabbed him by the elbow.

"I'll show you how," she said, fluttering her eyelashes sweetly as she began to pull him away from the table. Again, Hayner shot Roxas a look before he followed his friends and Demyx away from lounge area, making their way as a group toward the dance floor.

It took Roxas a moment to realize Axel hadn't moved to join them, that it had probably been Hayner's intention to get Pence away from the table all along.

Feeling a renewed surge of nerves, Roxas made a grab for his drink and took a long sip. Too late, he realized he'd ended up with one of the cocktails Demyx had brought back on his second trip to the bar. Roxas coughed, surprised, for a moment feeling the heat of the alcohol's tingling burn at the back of his throat.

Axel watched him, amusement obvious in his otherwise relaxed expression. "Vodka's not your thing, I'm guessing?"

Roxas shook his head, convinced the man could see the embarrassed flush in his face now quite clearly. "Drinking in general isn't really my thing."

Axel took another sip from his beer glass, before returning his attention to Roxas, one dark eyebrow rising. "Not even coffee?"

"Um, I'm fine with that, actually," Roxas said, "I drink tons of it at school, especially when I have a test to study for or something. Just not, um, not usually when I'm around it all day at work."

Great. Now he was over-explaining.

He took another sip before realizing he  _still_  hadn't switched glasses. This time, Roxas forced the urge to cough back down, determined not to embarrass himself even more than he already had.

Speaking of work… "What do you do?" Roxas asked, determined to prove he wasn't completely terrible at this socializing thing.

Axel tilted his head, brows furrowing slightly. "Do?"

"For a living," Roxas supplemented. "You know, for work."

"Ah." Seeming to finally understand, Axel looked up and toward the dance floor, a contemplative expression passing across his features. Roxas followed his gaze, quickly locating his friends on the floor below. Olette was dancing near both Hayner and Pence, focusing more of her attention on Pence over her boyfriend as she held the boy's hands, encouraging him to follow the rhythm she was setting. It took Roxas a moment longer before he spotted Demyx a little ways away, and only saw him then because of a flash of pink hair nearby belonging to a man he was dancing quite closely with.

Roxas felt his face heat up even more as he watched the pair's intimate movements. Hayner was right. Demyx, at least, was definitely gay. And, maybe, this was proof that he and Axel weren't a romantic... item.

Maybe.

He felt the weight of Axel's hand on his shoulder, had to concentrate on not tensing up as a natural response to it. "I'm in securities assessment," Axel said, his face hovering close to Roxas' ear. "And compliance, technically, too."

Security and compliance - yeah, he had totally no idea what any of that meant. It gave him dueling images of a policeman and someone in finance. As Roxas turned back toward Axel, the man straightened, hand lingering for just a moment on the shoulder where he'd initially settled it before allowing it to return to his side. Roxas followed the movement with his eyes, fleetingly fixated on Axel's hand. His long, thin fingers had an almost graceful quality to them the way they came to rest at his pants pocket, making idle, subtly circular motions along the fabric's outer layer.

"What are you studying?"

Roxas looked up, blinked a little as he tried to clear the buzzing in his head and focus on what he'd just been asked. Almost of its own volition, he saw his arm reach back toward the table, securing the vodka glass he'd been drinking from in one hand. "Political Science," he said, lifting the drink back to his lips. The flavor didn't seem so strong on his third taste. Or, actually, the fourth.

"And History," he added, as if suddenly remembering.

"Both interesting subjects," Axel said, tucking a wayward tress of thick brown hair behind one ear. The man was smiling again with that same expression from yesterday, as if he was privy to the punchline of a joke Roxas hadn't even heard the opening line to, leaving him completely in the dark as to what was so outwardly amusing. Somehow though, it didn't seem like he was being mocked.

Then again, that could also have just been the alcohol softening his interpretation of it.

Roxas finished the remainder of the drink, deciding that right now it didn't particularly matter. Then, finding he was kind of enjoying the buzzed feeling and the confidence that seemed to come along with it, Roxas reached for Olette's half finished glass and polished that sucker off too.

He felt a hand close gently over the band on his wrist, noticed how the touch sent a jolt of tingling electricity up his arm as Axel began to silently encourage him to walk forward.

"Let's catch up with your friends," Axel eventually said. "Maybe do a little dancing of our own."

Normally, Roxas would have protested. But normally, he also wouldn't have finished even that one drink once he'd realized his mistake, let alone find himself downing almost two. Between the drink and his steadily increasing confidence, he was feeling more open to new things. Even a little reckless. Almost by default then, Roxas found himself willingly allowing Axel to lead him along.

Especially if there would be some hand-holding on the dance floor. Maybe additional touching beyond simply brushing shoulders…

His thoughts were whirling, like water poured into a funnel, initially all over the place as he considered the possibilities, before they began to converge into one, all-encompassing line of focus. As they made their way down the lounge steps, Roxas tugged back on Axel's hand, got the man to slow his descent as he turned to look back upward. Roxas looked down at him, feeling a little silly in his current state for only thinking to ask what was on his mind just now.

"So,  _where_  did you say you were from?"

The slow smile returned, a hint at the corners of Axel's lips as Roxas took him in, watched the dancers below creating a frame of indistinct movement all around him. Roxas would return to that image even days later, still savoring the sensuality behind it, allowing it to remind him of everything that had come after: the dancing, more sweetly alcoholic drinks. Bodies touching, electronic music engulfing him entirely, as it pulsed through his chest and into his throat.

In this moment though, it was all about the subtle curve of the man's lips. That impish, knowing look.

"Truth be told," Axel said, his accented words an assured, lilting drawl. "I never actually did."


	4. Chapter 4

_September 9, 2012_

Compared to weekdays, Penn Station was veritably empty when Roxas got to it early the next morning and, from the looks of things, primarily encompassed families with young children visiting the city on what promised to be one of the last weekends of nice weather this season.

Or maybe they had ended up being guilt-tripped into heading out to neighboring states to visit relatives for the day. One or the other, Roxas thought grouchily.

He purchased his ticket to Penn in Newark and headed to wait at his train platform with considerable distraction. He'd woken up this morning feeling dizzy, headachy. From the plugged ears alone, Roxas assumed he was suffering from more than a simple souvenir hangover from the night before.

Just what he needed - a head cold, laundry in dire need of washing, homework still incomplete. And all the while, his mind still pretty much exclusively wanted to replay the conversations and actions of one alluring tourist he'd only just met for the first time two short days ago.

Man, did he ever need to get his freaking priorities in order.

Nearby, an infant began crying in its mother's arms, an earnest, keening wail ringing straight through his ears. It was usually something that'd set him on edge in short order. Today, in the fishbowl haze of his steadily forming congestion, Roxas hardly noticed. Eyes down at his checker patterned sneakers, Roxas kicked at a scuff in the yellow rubber flooring making up the divider passengers were supposed to remain behind until a conductor had cleared them to board.

He was having difficulties making sense of his thoughts, despite expending considerable effort on trying to sort through his feelings about the events of the night prior. In his current state, rational thought seemed an achievement bordering on virtually impossible.

Okay, so he thought Axel was hot, full stop. At least he'd figured out that much. And dancing had been surprisingly fun, despite Roxas' general aversion to social outings just like the one he'd been somewhat unwillingly commandeered into last night.  _Thanks, Hayner_. Demyx's bubbly enthusiasm had also contributed to the light atmosphere, making it a lot less awkward to be out clubbing with a pair of strangers than it probably otherwise would've been. Even Pence had seemed to start enjoying himself with the help of Olette's patient guidance and encouragement.

Amid the lights and noise of music and the writhing movements of other dancing bodies, there hadn't been much time to chat. Not with Axel or anyone. And with the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his system, Roxas couldn't be sure he'd have said anything substantive anyway. Instead, he'd just let Axel set the tempo, copying his movements with what he hoped was an acceptable level of precision. Roxas had never really felt like he had much sense of natural rhythm, which, given his mother's former profession, was kind of ironic as fuck. Gym had been one of his least favorite classes in high school, and he'd been more than a little relieved to discover his college didn't impose any physical education requirements on students. Hayner had always been the most athletic one in their group.

And Demyx had been dancing with that pink-haired guy, Roxas remembered, as he readjusted the backpack strap on one shoulder, then glanced up at the overhead ticker closest to where he stood. It was cycling through a few lines of pre-set text, offering safety information and informing those on the platform that they had five minutes before the train arrived and travelers could board.

His thoughts returned to the night prior, still lingering on Demyx and the person he'd been dancing with. Despite the crush of people and overwhelming noise, Demyx hadn't seemed to have any difficulties chatting with the guy he'd chosen to dance with. Or flirting with him either, come to think. As their group snaked their way off the dance floor, heading out of the club and onto their next destination, Roxas had been more than a little surprised to see that Demyx had chosen to tag along, rather than disappear with his dancing partner with whom he'd seemed so transfixed.

They'd headed out for food, Pence this time more clearly in his element and happy to lead the way over to a nearby Kashmiri restaurant that was still open despite the late hour. That's when things had gotten more interesting, at least in Roxas' mind.

The familiar sound of a train approaching drew Roxas' attention across the platform, eyes squinting at the approaching transit headlights. A moment later, it was rushing past him, brakes squealing as it slowed to a stop in front of him. Roxas watched the flow of departing passengers, waiting at the side of one of the train's sliding doors. He slipped in a moment later, traveling down an aisle until he located an empty seat near a window. Depositing his backpack between his legs, Roxas unzipped its main compartment and fished out a college textbook, determined to do at least a little bit of reading over the next half an hour.

He flipped to the second chapter in his early twentieth century political science text, began skimming the opening paragraph. He made it to the third page before realizing he wasn't retaining anything he'd just read.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned back a few pages, intent on starting over. It was just so hard to concentrate when his head felt like this, when his mind kept stubbornly wanting to return to something else.

Someone else, if he was being truly honest with himself.

Roxas pursed his lips, eyes traveling back over the second chapter's first sentence. Yeah, he thought, annoyed. Someone who might've been super cute, but who didn't even live in the same country as him, let alone closer by in New York City. He sure knew how to pick them, he thought with a hint of irony. Or Hayner did, actually, come to think.

Axel had certainly surprised him with his knowledge of American politics though. As the train announcer's voice crackled to life through the intercom, the vehicle lurching forward a pregnant moment later, Roxas found his mind hopelessly wandering again, back to the restaurant, the food, and the more interesting parts of the conversation he and Axel had shared.

_"So," Axel had said after a quick sip of his bottled beer, "history and politics, eh? Are you planning to run for office when you graduate or something?"_

_With a mouth full of spiced mutton and fragrant saffron rice, Roxas had almost choked mid-scoff. You kind of needed a shit-ton of money to go into politics, he figured. Plus there were all those disingenuous promises, and he'd never been very adept at lying. "I was thinking about going the law school route, actually," he said. When Axel didn't immediately respond, Roxas found himself supplementing. "You know, becoming a civil rights lawyer or something similar."_

_Oblivious to the chatter from the rest of their group at the next table over, Axel reclined, the cheap plastic material of the booth chair making a crinkling sound against his back. "Oh, I know what you mean, yes," he said, sidling a few subtle inches closer to Roxas' right side. "Law just seems a little dull in terms of professions for someone as interesting as you."_

_...because security and compliance sounded so much better in comparison?_

_Or had he said finance? With the alcohol still exerting its dizzying, liquid hold on him, Roxas was having a hard time remembering the finer points of their earlier exchange._

_Roxas might also have bristled at the comment, taking it as an insult, if not for Axel's current proximity. In this current, inebriated state, he was more inclined reach out and touch the angular jawline of the face that was now so close to him. The realization that they were in public and that his friends were a mere half table away kept the potentially embarrassing urge in check. Thanks to the alcohol, the impulse still lingered, needling away at the edge of his thoughts._

_Instead of acting on urges he might regret just as soon as he was more fully sobered up, Roxas took a swig of the glass of ice water in front of him before responding, trying desperately to clear his muddled thoughts. "Because candidates for public office are so much more fascinating…?"_

_A smile crept onto one corner of Axel's mouth. "The political science student doesn't agree? Now that's something I_ do _find interesting."_

_As Demyx let out a raucous laugh nearby at something Pence had apparently just said, Roxas felt a flush begin to creep into the corners of his cheeks. "I mean, I obviously think politics is interesting," he said, struggling to find the words to clarify while his mind still felt so sluggishly slow. It was a little annoying to think his current awkwardness now was all thanks to a few inadvertently consumed drinks of vodka. "Like, the next presidential race," Roxas forged onward, determined to prove his ability to hold a coherent line of conversation for more than a few short minutes. "That kind of stuff is definitely more up my alley."_

_Axel raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his beer, demeanor nonchalent. "But only if it's not such a lock as your upcoming November election, I'd imagine."_

_Now it was Roxas' turn to look skeptical. "A lock? How is it in any way a lock? The polls are pretty neck and neck, last time I checked."_

_He watched as his companion's eyes rolled, expression turning momentarily smug. "Trust me on this one," Axel said, tone light and good-natured. "Some parts of history are just set, regardless of the goings-on around them."_

_"_ All _of history is set," Roxas interjected, flashing Axel a playful grin, "since it already happened. The future though? That's totally wide open." He was feeling pretty satisfied with what he assumed was a clever, somewhat snarky little response._

_Take that, dumbass alcohol. So much for getting the complete and utter better of him. Ha._

_Axel said nothing at first, simply leaned forward to grab a bite of their shared dish. As he forked a piece of food into his mouth, Roxas noticed a hand come to a rest on his knee beneath the table, felt his leg being squeezed lightly between long, slender fingers. As Axel finished his bite, he straightened back up, offering Roxas a toothy smile in return. "Well," he said, looking practically lordly in his expression, "I guess it won't be that long before we all find out for sure."_

"Tickets out, please."

Roxas looked up from his once again forgotten college textbook. One of the train operators had appeared at the end of his car, checking passengers' proof of payment. As he got closer, Roxas fished the roundtrip ticket he'd purchased out of his pocket, holding it up as the operator paused in front of him. The man made a punch through the bottom of the card, then handed it back over to him. "Your stop's next up," he said before moving further down the aisle.

Roxas didn't reply, simply folded his ticket back into a jacket pocket. For a moment, he looked back down at his assigned readings, found himself slightly sniffling as a result of his newly formed head cold. It was just too hard to focus right now, and Roxas was intent on connecting the blame of his present distraction directly to the way he currently felt. It couldn't be the fact that he'd received the verbal promise of another meet-up with Axel next Tuesday, just a few days from now. It totally also wasn't that, this time, it'd be just the two of them alone. Sure, that was way more fun to think about than his homework, but it was this gross, congested feeling that was driving his decision to delay studying further. Definitely not hormones gone entirely freaking haywire. Sure.

Finally coming to the inevitable conclusion that he wasn't going to get anything further productive done, Roxas sighed, stored away his textbook, and prepared to endure the shitty New Jersey bus lines that would promise to get him closer to his ultimate destination this morning.

o - o

His grandfather's apartment was located in a modest, middle class neighborhood of Newark. Since Roxas' grandmother had passed away a handful of years earlier, his grandfather lived alone, busying himself in his retirement with hobbies that encompassed everything from daily morning walks to hours of constructing incredibly detailed, tiny model ships at a desk near his apartment's only east-facing window.

At one time, Roxas and his mother had come to visit every other weekend. They'd all chat for a good while, then help cook various meals together. Over the past year, Roxas had still tried to visit on a semi-regular basis. Between work and school, it had gotten increasingly difficult to make the trek out to Jersey from the interior of his own urban island, however.

"Roxas," his  _farfar_  greeted him, arms outstretched, engulfing his only grandchild in an affectionate hug, " _det är jättekul att se dig igen_."

Roxas returned the gesture, offering a smile, determined to keep the finer points about the current stresses in his life concealed behind a more carefree expression. " _Likaledes, farfar_. I'm sorry it's been so long since my last visit."

The man was quick to brush off his grandson's apology, unfazed. Ushering him into the living room, Roxas dutifully followed closely behind, eyes passing over the familiar shapes of furniture and other items that encompassed the totality of his grandfather's living space. "Come, sit down," his grandfather said, beckoning to a nearby chair as the older man shuffled over to a window, opening the shades to let more light in. Doing as he was instructed, Roxas slid his backpack off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor beside his feet at the same time that he moved to sit in the referenced antique armchair.

Still looking around, Roxas felt his chest tighten, shoulders tensing in an unconscious bodily response as he tried not to let his thoughts wander too far astray. There were so many childhood memories from this place, none of them necessarily bad. It was the simple reminder of the people he'd formed them with, those no longer here, that threatened to turn his mood on its face and remind him of all of the reasons he had to still feel unsettled. Totally alone.

Still shuffling around the small space, his grandfather paused momentarily to regard him. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be nice," Roxas replied, still mindful of his newly acquired sinus misery, as well as the hint of a raw, scratchy feeling at the back of his throat. It was very possible that tea could help soothe these physical aches, by virtue of its calming, comforting warmth alone.

His grandfather began to head toward the kitchen, a small galley space with a window cut-out into the living room on one half of the wall. " _Okej då_ , I'll boil some water."

"How are your studies?" the man called out as he turned to retrieve a teapot.

"Alright so far, I think," Roxas said, fingers pressing reflexively over the pocket of his jeans where his father's wallet remained nestled. "Fall semester's only just started."

"Good good." There was a pause in their conversation as his grandfather turned on the sink faucet and began to fill the teapot with water. He could hear his grandpa ambling around the kitchen, movements slowed by the man's advancing age. Suddenly, a thought came to Roxas, unbidden. Idly, he wondered how long he had before he'd be saying a permanent farewell to his  _farfar_  Sorenson too.

Way to be a serious fucking killjoy, Roxas thought. And completely macabre too, just to top it all off.

But still, the thought lingered, that when the time inevitably did come, then he'd really be alone. Except, he conceded, maybe for his dad. Although they were technically on speaking terms, calls between father and son were infrequent, and, when they eventually ended up taking place at all, trended toward awkward, also usually short. In the beginning, right after his parents' divorce and the man's move out West, Roxas had visited his dad at least a few times a year, usually on holiday breaks during high school. His father was generally pre-occupied with running his successful business though and, as the years went by, Roxas had found himself left in the historic Edwardian row-house his father had subsequently occupied, more often than not, entirely on his own. It'd seemed such an increasingly obvious decision after each successive visit, as he observed his father continually ignoring his presence, rushing from one business-related meeting, some important client lunch or whatever, to another. So, when given the choice of visiting his father at any point during high school senior year, Roxas had found himself choosing, quite simply, to opt the hell out in favor of spending more time with the parent who actually seemed to give a damn or more about his life. Even the court fee to change his surname to Sorenson, effectively erasing any trace of ever having even been connected to his father... well, it'd been worth every penny, every extra hour he'd had to work to afford it a few months back, as far as he was concerned.

The teapot's high-pitched whistle brought him back, pulled him away from his troubled thoughts. Roxas looked up as his grandfather re-entered the living room, two ceramic teacups balanced on a small food tray between both hands. He continued questioning his grandson where he'd left off, unaware of the nature of Roxas' underlying thoughts. "You're still living in that closet-apartment in Svea's old building?"

Reaching for the offered cup of tea, Roxas settled the drink on his lap between both hands. "Yeah, the studio" he confirmed, bringing the cup to his lips and blowing on the steaming liquid in an attempt to cool it to an appropriate drinking temperature. "I'm still there."

His grandfather made a disapproving, tutting sound at the back of his throat. "It's such a shame you moved out of the two bedroom, to lose something that nice, and under rent control."

Taking a first, careful sip of his drink, Roxas initially responded with the mere hint of a shrug before looking up. "I couldn't afford to keep it,  _farfar_ ," he said, patiently reciting what he'd told the man on several prior occasions. "Not even if my name had been on the lease."

Under the circumstances, his landlord had been surprisingly understanding. A two bedroom apartment in his neighborhood would have cost an absolute fortune at the current market rate. And, with only his mother's name on the lease, Roxas had had no right to remain in the apartment once his landlord knew he had been effectively all but left alone. But the woman had taken a somewhat diplomatic approach to the whole situation, had offered him an available studio in the same building, no credit check required, at a slightly discounted rate to make it feasibly realistic for him to afford. He'd just needed to pick up the coffee shop job, work as many hours there as he could convince them to put him down for, and budget carefully pretty much everywhere else. His landlord had received a prime multi-room apartment, previously rent controlled for years, that she had been able to re-list on the rental market for nearly three times its original price.

And Roxas? Roxas had been given an opportunity to stay in his neighborhood, to keep living in the building he'd grown up in as an offered exchange. It might not have been totally fair, he conceded, but given the drastic, unexpected change in his circumstances last September, he guessed it had worked out well enough in the end.

Across from him, Roxas' grandfather placed his tea mug on a side table, then sat back, crossing his legs one over the other on an oversized couch. For a moment, he silently regarded his grandson, a thoughtful look flickering across his expression. When he did speak, it was at a volume that left Roxas initially straining to catch each word. "The life insurance policy could have helped you live more comfortably,  _älskling_. It can still help you now."

Before he could suppress the reaction, Roxas flinched, shoulders tensing, fingers clenching at the cup in his hands, as he quickly dropped eye contact with his grandfather.

 _Älskling_. Darling. That's what his mother used to call him. And, as much as he didn't want to admit to it, hearing the word, even as different as it sounded in someone else's tone, still had the ability to claw at his vulnerable psyche with surprising ruthlessness.

Roxas' gaze traveled from one corner of the room to another, eyes not really looking anywhere in particular, brows unconsciously furrowed.

He heard his grandfather shift his weight in place, then let out a heavy sigh.

"It's been almost a year, son," the man said, his voice still low, tone steady and level. "You deserve to move forward and get on with your life."

"No." The word was out before Roxas had realized he'd intended to say it, throat constricting as if even just the act of discussing this subject was an egregious, unforgivable betrayal.

He looked up, into his grandfather's sympathetic gaze. "How can you even say that?" Roxas asked, trying his hardest to keep his voice and expression neutral. Even cognizant of the topic's sensitive nature, it didn't seem like the greatest of ideas to snap back at the only one of his relatives who seemed to still care about his continued well-being.

"I miss her too." The last word lingered, sentence feeling incomplete to Roxas as his grandfather reached for his mug and took another sip of tea before returning to complete his thought. "But traveling to the city is a challenge for me, and you have school to focus on, such a bright future ahead of you."

He didn't want to hear any of this, not even one fucking hint of what his grandfather was implying.

Empty mug in hand, and with considerable effort, the old man rose.

Roxas soon followed, moving quickly to lend some help. "Let me do that, grandpa," he said, reaching for the cup, silently grateful to have something to focus on other than trying to form a response to what his grandfather had just said.

He was waved off. "Pah, no," the man scoffed lightly. "Sit back down. I'm not so far gone yet that I can't refill it myself." Still standing, Roxas nodded, backing off. His  _farfar_  had always refused to use a cane, could be considered stubborn in so many regards. Roxas supposed it had served his family well over the years. His grandfather's determination to see his only daughter succeed in dance, the artistic pursuit she'd had so much natural talent at, had served as the catalyst compelling a trans-Atlantic upheaval and the decision to immigrate the Sorenson family to the US in the first place.

Ultimately, the decision had paid off. Svea Sorenson had completed her training, then worked for years as a principle dancer with a respected Manhattan ballet company. His mother had made a name for herself in a way Roxas could only hope to achieve through academic means. For a moment, Roxas remembered how he'd needed considerable alcohol in his system before being comfortable even considering the dance floor with Axel the night prior. For whatever reason, his mom's effortless rhythm, her inborn athleticism, seemed to have completely, utterly skipped a generation. Somehow, Roxas figured, he probably had his dad to thank for that oversight too.

His grandfather returned to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of tea. "I'd like you to at least ask Dr. Havartin to walk you through your options tomorrow," he spoke up. "The entire process. So you'll know what to expect."

Legs feeling suddenly weak, stomach roiling uncomfortably, Roxas dropped back into the chair he'd just risen from. This was probably the reason his grandfather had wanted him here in person today all along, he suddenly realized. Why hadn't he just bowed out and saved himself from the awkwardness of getting so pointedly put on the spot, even if being avoidant ended up only working in his favor as a temporary solution?

"I don't think I'll be able to go tomorrow, actually," Roxas said, voice now noticeably less certain. He drew his teacup back up toward his mouth but hesitated, no longer confident it would be the wisest choice to add more liquid to the contents already sloshing around in his stomach. "I have school and a full shift at work as well."

Returning to the living room, his grandfather angled his way toward him. Roxas found himself looking away again, unable to meet his  _farfar_ 's intense, shrewdly observant gaze. A moment later, he felt the comforting weight of his grandfather's hand come to a rest on one shoulder.

" _Min pojke_ , you have every day of the rest of your life to learn and work," the man said, his voice unwavering, leaving no room for argument. Unequivocally firm. "Now, be a good boy tomorrow and remember to send my love to your dear mother."


	5. Chapter 5

Roxas took the steps up from his building's lobby two by two, the day's mail clutched in a vice-like grip in one hand. He made it to the third floor landing in a matter of seconds, chest heaving, and forced himself to slow his pace down the final hallway that would take him back home. A shoelace had come untied in the haste of his ascent. It trailed unnoticed, jerked erratically under the influence of gravity, a spontaneous movement following each successive step.

Stopping only long enough to fish a chain of keys out of the front pocket of his backpack, Roxas entered the apartment with an air of giddy anticipation, slipping out of his thick winter coat and hanging it up in the hall closet in one smooth, routine motion.

The living room was empty, west-facing window blinds open to the what remained of the day's quickly fading red-orange hues. A few months from now, it'd remain light out much later. High school would be officially over. And Roxas and his friends would have twelve glorious, summery weeks to hang out at their usual spot, to talk college and dorm rooms, and just screw around not doing anything really in particular.

 _College_.

The effervescent feeling returned, a fluttering of excitement forming then moving outward from the depths of his chest.

College. He was going to go to college.

At least, that's what he hoped.

Looking down at the envelope in his hand, Roxas took a moment to breathe in deeply, to settle his nerves.

His mother was in the kitchen, stove on, water simmering its way toward a languid boil. She turned at Roxas' entrance, offered her son a bright, welcoming smile. It was received with a sense of newfound anxiety as, quite suddenly, Roxas' thoughts inexplicably began to take a turn toward troubling.

He'd just received a letter from the top college of his choice, yeah. But the admissions process there was highly competitive, the ratio of applicants to acceptances incredibly low. He'd even applied as a binding early decision applicant, hoping to prove his unwavering commitment to matriculate — if only they were willing to let him in in the first place.

But…didn't offers of acceptance usually come in larger packages? Hayner's certainly had, even if it was just to a local city school.

Now acutely aware of just how slim the letter happened to be within the envelope he was still gripping in the tense fingers of one hand, Roxas found it next to impossible to return his mother's smile.

His mother's expression wavered, brows furrowing at her son's troubled look in a show of clear concern. " _Älskling,_ " she said, depositing a large wooden spoon onto a nearby countertop. "Is something wrong?"

Wordlessly, Roxas extended his arm, held out the envelope in front of him so his mother could read the distinctive font in the upper left corner, indicating the letter's original sender.

"Oh." Quiet understanding flickered in her eyes. A moment later, she approached. Placing a supporting hand on his back, Svea Sorenson gently guided her son out of the kitchen, into the adjacent space, and over to a dining room chair. She took a seat nearby, crossing one slender ankle over another, then placing folded hands in her lap before offering Roxas an encouraging smile. Even those simple actions had an air of graceful delicateness. A dancer once, a dancer always, Roxas supposed, even if his mother had officially retired from performing years ago.

"Open it, honey. You know I'll be proud of you no matter what."

Swallowing tightly, Roxas looked down at his thighs where the envelope had come to rest. With considerable hesitation, he turned it over, wedging his index finger under a small opening at one of its corners, then began to tear it open carefully from left to right.

A single sheet of paper greeted his anxious gaze. He pulled it out, unfolded it twice, before sitting up a little straighter and allowing his eyes to travel over the letterhead, the salutation, then down to the first line of the actual message.

Roxax read the first sentence twice, a third time, just to be safe, making sure he hadn't missed any subtle, crucial words. When he looked up, his mother was watching him closely, expression expectant but otherwise neutral. Something unidentifiable, a rising sensation of some intangible unknown, was making its way from his chest up into his throat.

" _Mamma_ ," he said, voice emotional, for some reason compelled to call his mother a term he hadn't used since he was in the third grade. "I got in."

"You did." The words were a soft acknowledgement, confirmation that what he'd said had been both heard and understood.

And though it hadn't sounded like his mother had asked a question, Roxas nodded, let out a shuddering breath of relief followed by a veritable rush of supplementary words. "It says the welcome packet comes later. And something about loans and scholarships."

His mother rose quickly, made an indistinct sound of delight as she reached over to pull him into a hug. Normally so careful about displays of affection in this past year since he'd started to come to terms with growing awareness of his own orientation, Roxas nevertheless stood and let himself be embraced. After a moment's pause, he even lifted his own arms and returned the fervent, celebratory gesture.

After a prolonged moment of affectionate contact, his mother stepped back, elbows straightening, hands sliding up to Roxas's shoulders. Roxas looked up at her, for once not bothered by how much shorter he was than even his own mother. For the first time since he'd gotten home, a smile began to form at the corners of his lips. Once it started, he was helpless to control the expression, found it rising up toward his cheeks until his lips parted into an exultant grin of his own.

He'd done it. All those late nights studying, every time he'd had to turn down outings with friends. Each little sacrifice, the hours upon hours of hard work, had ultimately been worth it in the end.

"Congratulations, sweetie."

Roxas inclined his head slightly, still smiling, then noticed the letter still clutched in his hands, and looked up once again. "Do you want to read it?"

Dropping her hands back down to her sides, his mother nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Yes, of course."

He passed the cream-colored sheet of paper over to her, watching as blue eyes so similar to his own traveled across the page. By now, it already felt like he'd managed to commit the entire first paragraph to memory and he found himself silently reciting the words along with her as she continued to read. They still had to figure out tuition and living expenses, his thoughts cautioned, and make sure it would otherwise be financially feasible for him to attend. Right now, Roxas opted to overlook those concerns in favor of giving himself a well-deserved moment to just simply celebrate this initial accomplishment.

Mid-way down the page, his mother's expression changed. Her eyes closed, brows knitting together as if in pain.

Roxas took half a step forward, arm not quite fully outstretched, then stopped as he saw her raise her hand to her face, pressing two fingers to the side of her head, against a temple. When she opened her eyes a moment later, they were unfocused, her expression subtly perturbed.

"Mom," he ventured. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course," she said, tone strangely opaque, seemingly unaware that she'd repeated words she'd only just moments ago said in an entirely different context. As Roxas watched, mildly unsettled, Svea Sorenson turned, lowered herself carefully back into her chair, her son's acceptance letter trembling minutely in one hand. She looked up at Roxas, then smiled again. To Roxas, it was a shadow of her first expression, a vaguely worrying, haggard-looking gesture.

His mother took a deep breath in, drawing the letter to her chest, before exhaling a string of slow, laborious words.

"I'm fine,  _älskling,_ maybe a little tired," she murmured, voice becoming increasingly quiet as she continued to speak. An unconscious sigh, another half-smile, and then, spoken so softly Roxas almost couldn't hear at all, "It's probably just the start of another one of my headaches."

* * *

_September 10, 2012_

Political science text, chapter two, third page.

Once again, for the second time in as many days, Roxas found his mind drifting. This time, in the white-washed hospital setting with a head too stuffily clouded to even manage to bring up a semi-accurate image of Axel, Roxas figured he had even less of an excuse not to be catching up with his readings.

The saying that history repeated itself was by now so obnoxiously, ironically accurate to his life it practically hurt.

He hadn't felt much like studying after he'd gotten back to the city yesterday, an apathy internally justified because he'd had to make a handful of frustrating phone calls to find a coworker willing to agree to a last-minute switch of shifts. It was the only way his schedule would otherwise have been able to accommodate this morning hospital visit.

It'd been difficult to find someone, with most simply refusing due to such late notice and others not even bothering to answer their phones in the first place. Eventually he'd gotten through to a former high school classmate, a fellow cafe worker by the name of Fuu. She was Roxas' age, but that was about the only commonality they shared. On the days they were scheduled to work together, Roxas usually found himself keeping his head down, trying to avoid the abusive, snarky comments from her meat-head of a boyfriend who more often than not seemed to have nothing better to do than hang around the coffee kiosk.

While Fuu trended toward minimal word usage, generally just shooting Roxas sullen looks to express her disdain at his presence, her boyfriend, Seifer, preferred to take a more direct approach. It wasn't unusual for him to make pointed comments, mocking Roxas about everything from his family's immigrant status to his modest height and presumed sexual orientation.

Essentially, the guy was a dick of the highest order, and used every opportunity to prove it, and indiscriminately, if Hayner's similar complaints when working shifts with Fuu were any indication.

The call hadn't been the most pleasant to get through, Roxas remembered, still staring dolefully at his political science text as hospital staff and visitors milled about all around him. Fuu hadn't been thrilled with the request, even after he'd said it was a family emergency. To make matters worse, Fuu's general aversion to full sentences had meant he'd also gotten an earful of Seifer's commentary on the other end of the line.

"Who're you talking to?" Roxas had heard, only a few seconds into the call.

Fuu had remained quiet a pregnant moment before answering with her typical curtness. "Nobody. Just Roxas."

"Who? Wait, that twinkie fob from the coffee shop? What the hell does he want?"

Over the line, Roxas had grimaced, allowed himself to roll his eyes without the worry of having to deal with a direct reaction from Seifer. Fob? Twinkie?  _Seriously_? He was fucking second generation, no different than Fuu, whose parents had immigrated from Vietnam. Christsakes. If the insult was relevant to Roxas, it applied just as equally to her. Knowing Seifer, he probably made some kind of arbitrary exception for Asians he thought were hot. Shaking his head, Roxas had pretended not to hear and just continued on with his reason for calling in the first place, determined to get through the conversation before Seifer managed to induce a night-long headache. It didn't stop him from thinking about just how much of a tone deaf toolbag Seifer really was though. Even with high school long over, some things just never seemed to change.

The rest of the conversation, though grating with Seifer's continued commentary, had ultimately culminated in Fuu's reluctant agreement to swap Roxas' Monday shift in exchange for him taking her morning Tuesday hours. Not great, but at least he'd managed to find a sub on short notice, even if it just meant he now had another duty in its place to worry about. It also meant another morning working with Hayner, who was usually scheduled as a Tuesday regular. Not bad either, except it left even less time to catch up with his homework.

Then he'd had to call Axel…

Nearby, Roxas noticed a boy slouching in his chair, bare arms crossed over what looked like a turtleneck-tanktop hybrid of a t-shirt. His oversized headphones seemed to be the only thing pinning down the unruly, myriad spikes that framed a shock of sienna-toned hair. Catching Roxas staring, the boy's expression contorted, morphed from one of bored neutrality into an implication of subversion, lips thinning into the beginnings of a darkly adolescent scowl.

Roxas averted his gaze, returned his attention to his textbook. Under normal circumstances, he might've been offended by the angry look the kid had shot at him without any conceivable justification. The boy's presence in this wing of the hospital alone was enough rationale for the sour expression though, he supposed. If the kid was looking at him with such hostility, Roxas figured he was probably dealing with something just as awful as the reason for his own visit today. As much as he hated the topic of psychology, Roxas was reminded of the way he himself had initially lashed out in the safe space of his mental health counselor's office last year, how the counselor had encouraged him to express his feelings using herself as a surrogate target for his anger. At the time, she'd explained it in terms of being a necessary aspect of the grieving process, a simple example of emotional transference.

Because 'simple' was such an apt word to use for the agony of emotional turmoil, the complexities of wave after wave of raw grief. Sure.

Unconsciously, Roxas bit the inside of his cheek, implored himself to regain at least a modicum of focus. It was bad enough that he had class in a few hours' time without already finding himself falling behind the course syllabus' relatively intensive reading schedule. It was only the second week of school, so he could probably catch up with a little diligence.

Or he could get so far behind he'd end up spending most of the semester hopelessly lost, winging pop quizzes left and right, and royally fucking himself over in terms of maintaining the grades necessary to keep his partial scholarship.

An insistent vibration began in earnest at his hip. Roxas slid out his phone, feeling an involuntary, nervy fluttering at the possibility that it might be Axel returning the message he'd left the night before.

A moment later, his anticipation turned tepid, dissolved almost completely, as Roxas noted the name lighting up the caller ID.

It was Pence.

Normally, he wouldn't have hesitated to accept the call. On this particular date, however, he couldn't possibly be bothered to act in a way perceived as normal. Nothing about this damn day was normal, and he sure as hell didn't want to hear more about Pence's offer of support; he didn't need anyone's sympathy. Without a further thought, Roxas declined the call. Phone still in hand, he did pull up his messages app though, shooting Hayner a quick text to let him know they'd be sharing a shift Tuesday morning.

"Roxas Sorenson?"

An unfamiliar voice drew Roxas' eyes up away from the screen of his phone. Before him stood a tall brunette sporting a white medical coat, long hair pulled back in a thick fabric band, her ponytail swaying gently as she came to a stop in front of him. A standard-issue clipboard rested loosely against her chest, held in place by a thin, willowy arm.

Roxas nodded but didn't stand, eyeing the woman with mild curiosity as his gaze fell on the nametag attached to her coat.

Lucrecia Crescent. The name didn't ring a bell.

"I'm Dr. Crescent," she said by way of introduction, extending her free hand. Still seated, Roxas shook it, but the confusion as to her identity and purpose for talking to him remained.

"Let's head over to a conference room where we can talk more privately," she said, turning, indicating with a slight jerk of her head that he should follow.

Roxas stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, nestling his political science textbook securely under his other arm. He cleared the distance between them in a few sprinting steps, falling in line immediately behind her as his sluggish, sinus infection-ravaged thoughts tried to make sense of the obvious discrepancy.

"I was supposed to meet with Dr. Havartin this morning," he finally said, following the woman with growing unease. They both continued walking despite his comment, taking a route by now familiar to Roxas, out of the waiting area and toward individual patient rooms.

Dr. Crescent glanced at him, her expression not unkind, but didn't slow her pace. "Yes, I know," she said. "Dr. Havartin is unavailable at the moment. I'll be handling his rounds for the day."

Swallowing hard, not comfortable with any form of change on a date that already promised to emotionally drain, Roxas steeled himself, said nothing, just continued trailing along behind the doctor. His expression remained set and determined, but noticeably grim.

It's not like it matters, he told himself, trying his best to sincerely believe the silent assertion. After all, it was hardly important who ended up explaining the process to him. Death was death, the ultimate form of finality. In the end, like a recurring, unavoidable nightmare, it would always lead everyone involved to the same, wretched outcome.

o - o

Roxas sat in a small hospital room on his own, elbows resting on his knees, chin cupped between both palms. To an outside observer, it may have seemed as though he was considering something carefully, eyes scanning the veritable mountain of paperwork Dr. Crescent had left in her wake on a nearby table in front of him.

He'd stopped actively reading any of it hours ago. Much like with his assigned readings, Roxas' eyes simply traveled over the same lines repeatedly, processing nothing. Completely unseeing. At some point, a nurse had stopped by, making an attempt at polite conversation and offering to let in some fresh air by opening the room's only window.

Roxas must have agreed, his hair now occasionally falling into his eyes a direct result of being ruffled by the day's warm breeze. He had no recollection of giving any form of affirmation though, would even have had difficulty describing the nurse's appearance at this point if pressed.

The life support machine was the only thing that seemed even remotely real to him. That, and the constant beeping of half a dozen machines tasked with routinely medicating, of regulating air flow that dictated the steady, measured rise and fall of his mother's chest.

He'd long ago stopped talking to her aloud on these increasingly infrequent visits, not able to stomach the cruel silence that came standard with a completely one-sided conversation of this nature. Over the course of the past six months, verbal smalltalk had yielded to internal, often incomplete, conversational thought. As the months had dragged on, as the realization set in that the woman wasn't going to miraculously recover, it'd started to become an increasingly half-hearted effort for Roxas to keep up appearances even in that regard.

Now he couldn't even muster that. Today, on the only anniversary he wished he could purposefully forget, on the day that they'd first set foot in this sterile, suffocating box of a room expecting a few tests, short stay, and quick results, Roxas felt like he had nothing left to give. This, unequivocally, was the end.

At least her headaches could no longer bother her wherever she was now, he thought. There was a time, before she'd lapsed into this state of permanent unconscious, that his mother would try to sit up, blue eyes glassy and wide. Anxious, almost manic, she'd try to get out of bed. It seemed to Roxas like an attempt to flee from the pain continuously plaguing her, a clawing, relentless torment that no quantity of high-strength meds had ever seemed able to stem. These were also the times he was convinced she was losing her mind from it, unable to recognize the familiar faces of nurses, her attending physician…not even the messy blond hair, the increasingly hopeless expression in the eyes of her only son.

Her condition had deteriorated so rapidly. Despite diligent efforts, they hadn't been able to do anything for her.

Eyes purposefully aimed away from his mother's bed, they played across the top sheet of paper that Dr. Crescent had left for him. They passed over legal words like healthcare directive, power of attorney, final will and testament. These were all things Roxas might have found interesting in a more academic setting. Coupled with medical terminology, other paperwork explaining the ventilator, a host of IVs, her feeding tube, and the unequivocally spelled-out futility of recovery from a condition called 'brain death', the lines of text coalesced into something entirely uninterpretable to him. Wholly foreign. Considerably hostile.

He just needed to sign a handful of the pages, needed to handle decisions for a parent no child should ever end up asked to make. True, he had his grandfather's support, Roxas tried to rationalize, but in the end it was his decision, ultimately, as Svea Sorenson's direct next of kin.

Unable to help himself, he ventured a glance over at the bed. Apart from the sounds of the ventilator, undeviating in its steady, life-giving rhythm, plus the tube down her throat and a few beeping monitors that were easy enough to tune out, he could almost imagine his mother being just simply asleep. Her face was slack, seemed relatively peaceful. He could almost believe it. If he turned off his thoughts, suppressed the twisting ache deep in his heart, he almost nearly could…

Then, quite suddenly, the horrifying weight of the power he wielded hit him. It was authority he'd never asked for, had not once even remotely ever wanted. It occurred to him that, despite possessing what he'd always considered to be a sizable vocabulary, there were no words in the world, no matter what languages he spoke, to describe the feeling now washing over him at the realization that the person who'd brought him into this world, who'd never wavered in her unconditional love and support, might not be here anymore by this time tomorrow.

And although he wasn't suicidal, couldn't truly even pass for depressed, he was unable to help feeling at this moment, in this prison of paralyzing circumstance, that, if his  _mamma_  had to leave the world in this awful way, a part of Roxas wanted to die with her, couldn't imagine any other desirable alternative.

The room began to blur out of focus, the finer details of the paperwork before him becoming abruptly too overwhelming to consider for even a second longer. Despite the fresh air still breezing in from the window, the atmosphere around him felt stale and thick. Able to inhale only with considerable effort, the air soured, oppressive, embedded itself deep in his nose and throat.

Homework. Hospital. Rent, food, job. Obligations to still-living family and friends. This was too much. All of these responsibilities. Every single one.

On quivering legs, vision still swimming, heart beating feverishly, Roxas stood. He offered a silent, anguished apology to his mother, his  _farfar_ as well. Then, throat constricted in response to this stifling, inexorable horror of a situation, and only just vaguely remembering to retrieve his belongings…

Roxas fled.

o - o

He couldn't tell how long he'd been walking. Maybe an hour. He hadn't consciously been paying attention to the direction he was going. Possibly just west. Whatever the finer details happened to be, they hardly mattered. He'd just had to get away, just needed to keep himself moving.

His phone had gone off several times since taking off. A text from Pence, then Olette, a call from Hayner next, then Pence again. Each time, the vibrating notification had jolted him out of the unfeeling stupor he kept lapsing into, mind mercifully blank until he was forced to acknowledge anything beyond his own acute misery.

The messages were supportive and sweet. They reminded him that, no matter how alone he felt, he still really did have people in his life that he could call true friends.

But, just as soon as he'd skimmed the messages, right about the time he told himself he needed to reply, Roxas found himself stuck, incapable of expending the emotional energy to even offer one or two sentence responses of thanks. Eventually, he switched his phone to do not disturb mode, hoping his friends wouldn't worry too much about his current radio silence, and decided it'd be in his best interests to skip his afternoon class in favor of getting his emotions more effectively in check.

After reading those messages, however, after absorbing the sentiment behind each one, Roxas couldn't deliberately return to the desired state of blankness he'd so recently enjoyed. Instead, it was a matter of aligning his thoughts with safer topics, neutral musings that didn't burrow their way straight into the vulnerable parts of his soul. Still padding around the city without apparent direction, he thought about school readings, cafe work, the possibility of a history research assistantship. Even in his mind's current state of keen, silent distress, Roxas quickly got bored with the limitations of these few topics. His thoughts wandered back to Axel, hoping that thinking of the hot foreigner might perk him up.

It only served to remind him that even their first meet-up no longer promised to lead to another.

He allowed himself a moment of guilt for having to cancel their get-together tomorrow. The self-reproach was intrinsically associated with the reason he'd had to cancel in the first place. Long, winding halls, stark white walls — all telltale signs of that deathtrap of a hospital. Before long, the emotional floodgates opened, as visuals of his morning came rushing, roaring back into the confines of his unwilling but susceptible mind.

His mother's bed. An open window. The sweltering breeze.

The beeping monitors. Her rhythmic ventilator. Page after page of paperwork needing his signature.

Paperwork… that he hadn't bothered to take with him in his frenzied flight off hospital grounds.

Roxas stopped dead in his tracks, causing a few angry comments from people on the sidewalk behind him, inducing a full hand's worth of middle finger flip-offs when he didn't show any outward reaction or give indication that he was going to resume walking.

Well, shit. He'd screwed up again.

Suddenly caring, emotions finally leveling, his mind returned to its default state of calculating, rational thought. He even took a quick foray into empathy to wonder just how annoyed Dr. Crescent would be upon realizing that nearly an hour of time spent going over end-of-life options with him appeared to have been wasted, all documents left unsigned and scattered on the table in his mother's room for someone else to clean up.

Moving out of the steady flow of early rush-hour pedestrian traffic, Roxas leaned himself up against the side of a nearby building, pulled out his phone, and began dialing the number to the hospital. At least this was something he could easily sort out, he figured. A nice departure from the fucked up mess that constituted the current state of every other aspect of his life.

After clicking through a couple automated options to get to the right department, Roxas finally heard the recording disconnect, followed by a few shrill rings.

A receptionist answered, her voice a pleasant cadence of words, repeating the name of the specific hospital department Roxas had been seeking.

"Yeah, hi," he said, arm rising to smooth some wayward tufts of spiky hair at the back of his head. "I'm trying to get a message to Dr. Crescent."

There was a pause, a prolonged silence over the line. For a moment, Roxas thought the call might've dropped.

"Dr. Crescent," the receptionist finally repeated. "I'm not sure there's anyone by that name in this department."

Roxas tilted his head slightly, shifting the strap of his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

Huh. That was kind of weird. Maybe he'd gotten her name wrong, or the receptionist had just misheard.

"She was filling in for Dr. Havartin today," Roxas supplied, thinking it might make a difference. "The name on her badge said Lucrecia Crescent, and she definitely said she was a doctor, maybe just from a different department?"

"Just a second," the receptionist said, still sounding doubtful. "Can I put you on hold?"

Chewing on his lower lip a little, Roxas nodded to himself, tried to hold back a sigh. He reminded himself he was doing this in order to be polite. "Sure. Yeah, that's fine."

A minute passed by, then two. As Roxas waited, he watched with remote interest as the crush of people, of cars and urban noise, filled his senses. The cacophony of sounds was familiar, almost a patent comfort, despite it being little more than discordant noise. He'd grown up around this bustle, the outright craziness of nearly ten million people, all living on one, modest-sized island and its surrounding boroughs. This was New York, without question one of the most vibrant cities in the world, that people traveled from just about everywhere to have the opportunity to visit.

All those things were true, sure. But, he thought, feeling a measured swell of subtle pride, this city? It was first and foremost his home, a place he knew, unequivocally, he belonged.

"Roxas? Is that you?"

Nervous energy formed instantaneously at the sound of the voice. By now, Roxas felt he'd know that accent anywhere; he just hadn't expected to hear it coming from somewhere beyond his cell phone today. Surprised, he turned toward the voice at the same time that the receptionist returned to the line.

"Hey," he managed to get out in response to Axel's words before the receptionist began speaking over him.

"Sir? Thank you for holding." Roxas shot Axel an apologetic look, eyes flicking in the direction of the phone held up to one ear. Axel nodded, kept quiet. "I'm sorry," the receptionist continued, "but there's no one by that name who works as a doctor at this hospital. Maybe you where thi—"

"It's fine, no worries," Roxas said, cutting her off. "I'll just try back tomorrow …or something." Actually, whatever, as far as he was concerned right now. With Axel present, he was feeling a lot less bothered than he otherwise might have been with the response the receptionist had just given him. Given the choice between Axel or the hospital, his mind seemed more than happy to focus on the person in front of him now. There was plenty of time to deal with the mess he'd left at the hospital sometime in the near future.

Roxas dropped the call and looked up at Axel as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Without the distraction of the phone at his ear, Roxas suddenly realized he had no idea what to say, was in danger of becoming quickly flustered yet again. He'd been expecting a call from Axel, if anything. Meeting each other in person hadn't really crossed his radar as a possibility for today.

"I got your message," Axel said, breaking the silence before it risked becoming awkward. "I have to say, it's a nice surprise to run into you today in light of tomorrow's cancelation."

The words were spoken casually, in a matter of fact way that didn't seem accusatory. Nevertheless, Roxas felt heat begin to creep into his cheeks. Why did he always get this way around a man he'd only just met? It was embarrassing as hell. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he fished around for an adequate response, attempted to make himself sound even remotely normal. "Kind of coincidental too," he offered. "It's not like we're in a small city."

"Perhaps it's destiny." A small smile formed at the edges of Axel's lips, a familiar expression of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Although it certainly doesn't hurt that you're only half a block from my hotel."

Roxas blinked, caught off-guard, then took a moment to look around. "Oh. Right." He hadn't been paying attention to where he'd been going, had mostly just been following the flow of the crowd, allowing strangers to determine his general trajectory as he tried to keep his mind as smoothed-over-unemotional as possible. Now, he didn't even have the energy to silently berate himself for making himself sound even dumber than he figured he typically already would around a crush.

Because, yeah, he was owning up to it, at least privately to himself. The telltale signs of attraction were there. It'd just figure he'd start crushing on a foreigner, someone who likely wouldn't be in Manhattan for long, not to mention might not even be single, come to think.

"Where's your …friend?" he asked, rather than scrambling for a witty response that'd no doubt totally miss the mark given his current mood. In a way, it was nothing short of a miracle he was even forming complete sentences after the day he'd thus far had. A small miracle, he guessed. Maybe he should have the sense to feel thankful.

"He had to return home early, unfortunately," Axel replied, apparently not catching the hesitation in Roxas' tone. The blond was still unsure if Demyx and Axel's relationship extended beyond friendship. Until told otherwise, he guessed 'friend' was just how he'd keep referring to Demyx when it related to his associations with Axel.

"Shame, too," Axel continued. "He was really enjoying this place."

Unsure how to reply, Roxas remained silent, found himself fiddling with the strap on his backpack in an attempt to calm his renegade fluttering nerves.

As another wave of pedestrians began to pass by them, Axel took a step closer toward the brick building that Roxas had been leaning up against just a short while ago. For a moment Roxas thought, maybe even hoped, that Axel was going to lay a hand on his shoulder again, possibly his wrist. Instead, the man merely took up the spot next to Roxas, leaning back against the exposed brick building's exterior with comfortable casualness, before speaking again.

"If you aren't free tomorrow, would you like to grab a bite of food now?"

There were a million reasons why he shouldn't, not the least of which included homework, head-colds, and the persistent desire to just lie down. More than anything at the moment, Roxas really just wanted to curl up and sleep, needed assurances that this day would soon officially be over and done with. Permanently.

There was also the realization that he might just lose it completely if he allowed his mind to wander, alone at home and exposed to every iniquitous memory. He'd eschewed the presence of his friends today, not wanting to deal with their pitying expressions, having zero interest in choreographing a careful, tiptoed dance around the subject that would undoubtedly be on each of their minds.

Axel, though. Axel didn't know.

He didn't know anything about the significance of this day, just seemed interested in Roxas himself, wanted to spend more time together. And, without the requisite knowledge, there also wouldn't be any pretense, any presumed duty, of feeling as though he had to keep Roxas company simply out of a sense of polite sympathy.

Slowly, Roxas nodded, then offered up his response. "Sure," he said, trying to keep his tone light and demeanor as insouciant as Axel's naturally was. "I could definitely go for some food."

Or just about anything right now would work, really, as long as it promised to give him a reprieve from reality... the opportunity to forget for just a little while longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to **Ilurvesfewd** for the dA comments on earlier chapters of this fic; they pretty much directly inspired the entire first scene in this one.
> 
>  **Trigger Warning** : The final section of this chapter includes an alternate depiction of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in Manhattan. I went back and forth about whether to warn about this as I didn't want to spoil any part of this story. Since this was a real historical event that I'm using as a catalyst for this fic, however, I wanted to throw it out there so readers who might find it upsetting to read would be on notice. If you find references to 9/11 specifically triggering, please take care while reading this chapter.

They sped past buildings, each blending into the one right next to it, a coalesced iridescent blur of corporate steel and reinforced glass. Roxas looked on with interest, out the back passenger side window of the taxicab he and his father were riding in. Beside him, his dad's head was down, eyes fixed on the Blackberry phone he used for work, fingers typing over the device's raised keyboard at breakneck speed. The man had been home working remotely all day, had agreed to watch Roxas while his wife subbed in as the teacher for an evening dance class. He hadn't anticipated the home printer running out of ink on the one day he actually needed it for work.

Although tired after a long day at school, Roxas was nevertheless eager to be taking the trip to his father's office in Manhattan's Financial District.

That made one of them, if his father's tired expression was any indication.

Roxas hardly noticed his dad's grim look. He was just happy to be out of the house, excited to be taking even a short little trip. His dad was usually so busy, coming home every day around the time he had to go to bed, sometimes much later than even that. It was a rare occasion when he got to see his father on a weekday. This was something that Roxas planned on enjoying to the fullest extent.

"Sorry to drag you along today, buddy," his father said. "It'd have been nice if your mother…" The man stopped mid-sentence, didn't finish, instead exhaling a heavy, frustrated sounding breath.

Roxas turned away from the cab's window, looked up at his father, unable to completely conceal the enthusiasm he was feeling. "It's okay," he said, trying rather unsuccessfully to copy his father's more somber expression. "I don't mind."

As the cab turned onto the street where his father's law firm was located, the man offered Roxas a small smile, reached out a hand and ruffled his son's mess of blond hair. "You're a good kid, you know that?"

Dropping his solemn expression in an instant, Roxas offered his father a wide grin, showing off the empty space where his front two adult teeth hadn't yet grown in. "I know that, yep!"

Chuckling a little as they pulled up to the drop-off area, Roxas watched his father pay the driver, open the door, and step out of the cab. He was quick to follow, scooting across the back seat so he could get out on the side of the car facing the pedestrian walk and avoid oncoming street traffic, just like he'd been taught.

His dad held out his arm, Roxas gleefully sliding his small hand into the man's palm as they made their way toward the door that led into the building's front lobby, trying not to bounce with every step. Suppressing the inclination was a concerted effort. Skipping, as his father had often reminded him with a lecturing tone, was an activity reserved for little girls, not to be performed by any son of his. Roxas let himself be led up to the front desk clerk, gait as subdued as he could make it, and watched as his father pulled out his identification card. The clerk scanned the ID, then looked down at Roxas and shot him a smile before clearing the pair and nodding toward the next available elevator.

By the time they arrived on the building's forty-second floor, Roxas was smiling openly, feeling elated. He'd gotten to press not only the elevator button for his dad's floor but  _two_  others for people who'd entered the lift along with them. Now he'd get to look out the window in his dad's office, down at the entire city, maybe even sit beside him at his desk while he worked and pretend to be helping on an important case.

It was late in the afternoon, but the office was still bustling with a melange of workers, some of whom his father greeted, while others he walked past without a second glance. Walking by his side, Roxas made a quick game out of identifying the various people, from the respected junior and senior partners, the firm's many paralegals and partner-assigned secretaries, to a group of harried looking first year associates.

The familiar hallway where his father's office was located came into view. Roxas picked up his pace, moving up alongside his father, still holding his hand. The secretary's desk immediately in front of the office door was currently unoccupied. Roxas glanced at the photos that lined the interior of the desk with interest while his father paused to locate his office key. Photos were unnecessary clutter his father preferred to keep off his own workspace. Hand released a moment later, door opening inward, Roxas was free to enter the office. He made a beeline over to the floor-to-ceiling window, eagerly anticipating his first look down onto the world below.

"Hands off, please, Roxas," his father said, tone stern and effectively halting the trajectory of the boy's fingers as they hovered mere inches from the window's glossy interior.

Roxas smiled his father's way, inclined his head in apology, then stuffed his fists into his pants pockets so he couldn't forget his father's warning. He leaned forward, craning his neck to see straight down outside, observing the people milling around on the sidewalks below. He was so far above them, the pedestrians appeared as nothing larger than scurrying specs, a starburst of endless colors moving with unknown purpose below.

"I didn't expect to see you in the office today, sir."

Roxas looked up at the sound of a feminine voice. His gaze came to rest on his father's secretary standing by the office entranceway. Their eyes met at about the same time, and she offered him a warm smile.

At his desk, his father stood. "I need to have some copies made of the discovery material for the McLaren case," he said. Roxas watched as he pulled a brown file folder out of his briefcase and held it out to the woman.

She inclined her head, approached his desk, and took the folder off his hands. "Of course. I'll take care of it right away." As she passed near Roxas on her return to the door, the woman slowed to a stop, reaching out to smooth down blond spikes of his mussed-up hair. Without a word, she also slid a hand into the pocket of her skirt, emerging with a small peppermint candy, which she deposited into the boy's outstretched palm. "I'll be back in a moment," she called over her shoulder and, receiving no further instructions from his father as he settled down at his desk, the woman took her leave.

Roxas turned back to the window, twisting the candy wrapper taut on both sides, until it released the peppermint from its confines. He popped the ball of solid sugary sweetness into his mouth, rolling it experimentally around his tongue, crinkled the wrapper between two fingers, then turned his attention back to the window.

There were more people on the sidewalks now, probably the result of it nearing the end of the standard workday. Roxas observed with rapt attention, eyes trying to discern individual features of the select few they'd chosen to trail along after. Hayner would have been so bored having to come here after school, Roxas thought, noting the cold minty feel of air at the back of his throat every time he inhaled. Where Hayner was obsessed with sports, it was people and their personal stories that interested Roxas most, even if they were just made up, facets of his youthful imagination.

He heard the office door open again, glanced at the returning secretary out of the corner of his eye. She made her way back over toward his father, depositing a small pile of paper on one corner of his desk before placing a delivery box and a few letters directly adjacent to them. "Is there anything else you need?" Roxas heard her ask.

Intent on the paperwork in front of him, Roxas' father didn't look up, just shook his head. "Thank you, no. Have a nice evening. You're free to go."

She left a moment later, waving good-bye to Roxas who copied the motion, candy wrapper crinkling in his free hand as he crunched down on the thin sphere of sugar that remained undissolved in his mouth. His father was reaching for the package, using a letter opener to slice through the masking tape. To Roxas, the instrument had always looked like a small medieval sword, and he'd had to exert considerable self-control not to pick it up and play with it on each successive visit. His father didn't take kindly to his belongings being treated as toys, or to Roxas acting much like a child himself, for that matter.

Still, Roxas made his way over to his father's desk, pulling up along one side to watch with mute curiosity as his father continued to open the package he'd just received.

Noting his son's attention out of the corner of one eye, the man turned, a slight and subtle movement that offered Roxas a better view of the item that had been enclosed within.

"A wallet?" Roxas asked, brows furrowing as his father nodded in confirmation.

"But…" The boy tilted his head, trying to make sense of it. "…you already have one of those."

His father shrugged, removed the flap of expensive leather from its encasing. "I decided to buy a new one."

Reaching into his pocket, the man placed his old wallet onto the desk and began removing a handful of credit and business cards, as well as a few bills of money from its worn interior. Roxas watched, for a moment simply taking in the transferring process with wordless interest as he got up the nerve to speak again. Sometimes his father found his questions tiresome, at times even snapped at him if he was in an irritable enough mood. It was always a good idea to try to gauge his current disposition before speaking. When Roxas guessed wrong — well, those were times he'd much rather just forget.

It was his  _mamma_  who came to his defense when his father got unnecessarily snappish in her presence. "Isn't the mark of a good attorney to investigate every uncertainty?" she'd pointed out to her husband once, as Roxas had listened to the exchange from a nearby hiding place, holding his breath and waiting to see if he might be the reason they started fighting again. "He's just taking after his father," she'd continued, tone biting. "I'd have thought you'd be proud."

"What are you going to do with that one?" Roxas finally decided to risk asking. He pointed an index finger at the wallet he was so familiar seeing his father walking around holding.

The man looked up, regarded his son with scrutinizing eyes. "It's old and falling apart. I was planning to throw it out."

Roxas opened his mouth as if to speak again but found himself suddenly reticent, rendered silent under the intensity of his father's gaze.

Another quiet moment passed as his father returned his attention to the task at hand and finished organizing his belongings into his new wallet. Roxas fidgeted slightly but said nothing further, the tips of his fingers pressing against the edge of his father's desk.

"Roxas."

The boy looked up, met his father's steady gaze with a shy look of his own. One of his father's hands had moved toward the old wallet, was sliding it closer until it came to a rest between the two of them on the smooth mahogany surface of his desk.

"Would you like to have it?"

Roxas' eyes dropped to the wallet, visible interest shining in them before he looked back up at his father and nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said. Then, remembering his dad's preferences when it came to manners, he added a polite "please" to the end of his response.

"Take it, then." His father nodded his assent, reaching toward his new wallet and removing some of the money he'd just organized into it. He flipped through a handful of dollar bills, choosing three singles and placing them on top of his old billfold. "Something for you to put in it," he said, a moment before a knocking sound drew his attention away from his son and back toward the office door.

Roxas hardly noticed as his father stood, eyes still trained on his new possession, his smile so wide it was starting to make his cheeks ache. Vaguely, he heard his father tell him to take the seat he'd just risen from before making his way to the door. Roxas was quick to comply, first sitting, then pulling the rolling chair inward, hands gripping the ledge of his father's desk as a support.

His dad opened the door. For a moment, Roxas' focus was directed toward the office entrance as he identified one of his father's bosses, a man who his dad called an equity partner. This was a position his father coveted, the reason he worked such long hours. Roxas remembered so many conversations between his parents about his father's goal of becoming one of them, even if he didn't understand what made a junior partner so much less desirable than someone who was an equity senior. They were just words to him, titles that mattered to his father but very little as yet to his young son. Given her often sardonic comments about how money wasn't everything, Roxas thought it was safe to assume that his  _mamma_  cared very little for such lofty goals as well.

Roxas was only half-listening to the conversation taking place nearby as he reached for the wallet and money his father had given him. He heard things like "How are the associates doing on the McLaren discovery?", "the amicus deadline for that civil rights federal filing is next Tuesday", and "are you still giving the San Francisco offer some serious consideration?" — all without bothering to figure out what any of it might mean, or keeping track of how his dad had chosen to reply. One day, Roxas hoped, he would be a lawyer too, just like his father. As a result, he usually listened in and paid more attention to new terminology, committed it to memory so he could ask his father later what specific terms meant. Today, he was too caught up with his new acquisition, simply happy to investigate the wallet's finer details as he rotated the worn square of leather between both hands.

He picked up the dollar bills, flipped open the wallet at its fold. The line was faded a shade lighter than the rest of the leather, a result of age and repeated use. Slowly, reverently, he opened the billfold, began to slide the dollars into it. Three-thirds of the way down, they met an obstruction, something that wouldn't allow them to go further. Fingers delving between two thin swatches of fabric, Roxas pulled the offending item up and out just as his father finished his conversation and turned to head back toward his desk.

"Daddy," Roxas spoke up, "you forgot this." He held the photo out toward his father, a memento from a recent vacation, taken by a tourist of all three family members at his  _mamma's_  request. The Atlantic shore in the background sparkling a silvery sheen of off-white, the photo had captured Roxas squinting in an attempt to block out the offending light, a permanent reminder of how warm and sunny their day at the beach had been.

For a moment, his father just studied it, eyes traveling from his son, then back to the offering in his hand. He smiled at Roxas, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. Roxas noted the look, but said nothing. After a long day of work, it wasn't unusual for his father to be tired.

When the man finally did speak, the words came out sounding at the same time overly convivial and noticeably strained. "That's okay, buddy," his father said, waving his son off as he returned his attention back to the pile of paperwork on his desk. "You go ahead and keep it." Then, spoken softly, almost as if he was talking to himself, "...take it out once in awhile if you need a reminder of our time together."

* * *

_"Do you ever get tired?" Axel asked._

_Roxas looked up, away from the half-finished meal on his plate, and took a moment to consider the question. With thoughts on school, work, his mother, and a whole host of other social obligations, the answer seemed rather straightforward. "Well, yeah," he replied honestly, "I'm pretty much always tired lately."_

_The response didn't seem to satisfy Axel. "With all of this, I mean. This time. This place." The man spread a hand toward a nearby window, fingers splayed outward as he swept his arm across the horizontal plane of Roxas' sightline._

_This time?_

_Roxas quirked his head, trying to understand what Axel was getting at._

_What place?_

_"New York? I think it's the best city ever, actually."_

_For a moment, Axel simply regarded him, an unreadable look passing over his face. When he finally responded, his voice was quiet, reflective._

_"Ever? But that's such a remarkably long span of time…"_

* * *

_September 11, 2012_

_After dinner, they took a walk, side by side in the fading Manhattan twilight. Apart from the general aches associated with his forming illness, Roxas couldn't have asked for a better distraction. As he became more comfortable in Axel's presence, Roxas found himself actually even enjoying himself. Finally relaxing for the first time that day._

In bed, Roxas shifted, eyes opening for a mere instant. Something had woken him, something he should be addressing. It was something nearby, insistently pulsing.

His eyelids felt heavy, his head so impenetrably cloudy.

The events of the evening before came back to him in only partially intelligible flashes of recollection.

An arm around his shoulder, easy smalltalk, exchanged glances of fledgling attraction.

_"There's no chance of seeing you tomorrow?" Axel asked, squeezing the shoulder beneath his arm, a tender, lingering action that made Roxas' heart feel like it was jumping up into his throat._

_He shook his head, made an apologetic face. "I have to go in to work. And I have classes all afternoon and evening."_

_For a moment, Axel's grip seemed to tighten across his shoulders. Roxas looked up, noted a similarly tense expression pass across Axel's face that was gone as quickly as it'd initially formed. If not for the extra few second's delay in relaxing his arm, Roxas might have let himself believe he'd imagined the subtle change of mood entirely in the first place._

The buzzing sensation came to him again. This time, Roxas was able to pinpoint its general location.

He unearthed his phone from beneath a pillow, now realizing the muffled tickling feeling had been its dogged vibration against the side of his face.

He just had the chance to read the caller ID, to realize that it was Pence, before the feeling of overpowering exhaustion started to overtake his senses again.

_"I thought you'd said you were working today, actually," Axel returned, tone light, conversational once more._

_"Yeah," Roxas said. "I was supposed to but I had something come up." When Axel didn't immediately respond, Roxas found himself automatically supplementing. "Just a family problem... issue... kinda …thing." The last word was mumbled, very nearly inaudible._

_Axel made a sound of acknowledgement as they turned the corner onto the street where Roxas lived. They walked in silence until a block before his apartment's front entrance._

_"Anything you want to talk about?" Axel asked finally._

_"No." Now it was Roxas' turn to stiffen beneath the weight of Axel's arm. It took a genuine effort not to shrug him off completely. Before he could stop himself, he shot Axel a dark look._

Why couldn't anyone have the good grace to leave him the fuck alone when he was feeling like this? Eyes opening again at the phone's emphatic vibrations, Roxas couldn't tell if he was directing the silent inquiry at the exchange that had taken place last night or more to the current disturbance, at Pence.

And why the hell was he having such a hard time staying awake? He pushed himself up to sitting, elbows shaking, arm muscles protesting. The familiar shapes in his room blurred momentarily out of focus. It felt, quite honestly, like he was flat-out drunk.

Okay, fine. Whatever. Except he hadn't had anything to drink last night stronger than a glass of ice water.

Body trembling with the exertion of simply sitting up, Roxas rested his elbows on his knees, buried his knuckles into the sockets of his eyes, as he tried his best to ground himself.

_Axel slowed their pace until they both came to a stop, sliding his arm off Roxas' shoulders, allowing it to return to the jeans pocket at his side. Even though there was no anger in his expression, Roxas found himself looking down, studying the scuffed white of the checkerboard on his tennis shoes, feeling chagrin at his minor outburst._

_"I'm sorry," he said, voice strained, low. "I've just had a crappy last couple of days. Meeting you excepted," he was quick to add, looking up, face coloring with a flush of embarrassment at the near-insult. Axel merely offered a small, encouraging smile. "Plus," he forged on, "I'm behind on school stuff, have to keep up with work, and to top it all off, I think I'm coming down with a head-cold just when—"_

This was more than a head cold. This was…like an entire bottle of 100-proof vodka, chased with half a dozen sleeping pills. What the…what the actual fuck?

_He was cut off mid-sentence as, in one smooth movement, Axel stepped forward, leaned down, and kissed him. And then, before Roxas could do anything other than stand rigid with shock, Axel offered him another, this one lasting longer, far bolder in its delivery._

The phone brought him out of his half-dazed reverie as it began vibrating again. Slowly, Roxas lifted his head, reached for it. His movements were sluggish, clumsy. It took him two tries before he was able to accept the call.

"Roxas? Finally! Geez, we were getting worried."

Roxas listened, only half processing Pence's words as his friend continued to ramble on.

"Is everything okay? Are you…alright?"

Roxas tried to speak, found his tongue too dry to utter an audible word at first. He cleared his throat, had the sense to feel a prickling of irritation at his current state of apparent inebriation, before finally responding. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, tone taking on a hint of the frustration he was feeling. "Why wouldn't I be?"

There was a pause on Pence's side of the line.

"Well, for one," Pence said, voice far more hesitant than it had been a few seconds prior, "you're pretty darn late for your shift."

_Reeling from surprise, Roxas pulled away, eyes darting back and forth around the two of them, still not used to the idea of public displays of affection or such an outward declaration of his gendered attractions. Axel watched, eyes cat-like, as though trying to gauge the meaning behind Roxas' reaction._

"My…shift?" Roxas blinked rapidly, trying to force away the drowsy feeling that was still persisting despite his best efforts.

"You told Hayner you'd be here this morning. You texted yesterday…" Pence trailed off, apparently unsure what more to say.

"Yeah," Roxas sighed. "I remember."

Something just wasn't adding up for him though and in his current state, he was having a hell of a time putting his finger on it with any level of acuity.

Finally, it came to him.

"Wait, why are you calling to talk to me about work anyway?"

"Because these two saps wanted to make sure you were okay and keep us company," Hayner's voice cut in, followed by a sarcastic "surprise, bud! You're on speakerphone."

"We also thought we could take you out to lunch afterward since we all have the afternoon free," Roxas heard Olette chime in with her usual upbeat tone.

"Which we can't do if you don't actually show up and work the shift you got scheduled for." Hayner's voice held a note of irritation.

Glancing over at his digital clock, seeing it was already nearly eight, Roxas realized his friend was probably in the midst of the typical hellish morning coffee rush.

"I'm sorry," Roxas said. "I... have no idea how I managed to oversleep." Especially considering how many times Pence had been trying to call over the last few hours.

 _Trying to compose himself, still not sure exactly where to look, Roxas ran a hand through the top layer of his hair while he struggled to find adequate words. "I was just telling you how I think I might be getting sick," he spluttered, completely caught off-guard, "and then you go and — and_ kiss _me." Even as he spoke, Roxas couldn't suppress the note of longing in his voice at the last two words._

_Simply watching, saying nothing, Axel's lips upturned into… Roxas stared. Was that a …smirk?_

"It's cool. I'm obviously covering your lazy ass," Hayner said, this time in a much milder tone. "Pence and Olette are helping, and I'm not gonna tell the manager. Just get here as soon as possible so no one finds out."

The call dropped, leaving Roxas in the silence of his room. Vaguely, he noted the score of phone notifications he'd missed while he was out cold: four calls from Pence, a few of Hayner's texts. Even a voicemail from his  _farfar_.

Sighing, Roxas stood, swaying off-balance for the first few seconds as he tried to steady himself. His head ached in protest at the sudden movement, vision warped, then threw itself back into focus at a dizzying rate.

_In a matter of seconds, they were kissing again, this time Roxas a more willing participant, lips slightly parted, chest fluttering, face quickly turning flush with the sheer fervency of it._

Groaning, trying to force the distracting imagery away from his immediate thoughts, Roxas began shuffling around his room, hurrying to get dressed and prepped to leave.

He dug through his clothing, only to discover he had no clean work shirts since - oh, right - he still hadn't had a chance to do laundry. Just fucking great.

_Axel broke away, ending the contact far too soon for Roxas' liking. It was all he could do to stifle the frustrated whine inching its way up from the back of this throat. For a moment longer, Axel remained, face hovering by Roxas' right ear. When he next spoke, Roxas could easily imagine the smug smile still playing across the man's lips._

It was official: Between work and a huge block of afternoon and evening classes, this was going to be the longest, most trying day in goddamn history.

 _"What can I say?_   _I enjoy the occasional risk," Axel said, voice a sensual, lilting whisper. "I guess I just decided to take my chances."_

o - o

By the time Roxas left, it was already past eight. Instead of making a beeline for the nearest metro station and following his usual route, he made the calculated decision to hail a cab, willing to eat the additional cost in the hope that above ground transport might be faster. At the very least, it didn't require multiple transfers.

As he settled in for the ride, Roxas pulled out his phone, determined to at least clear his notifications. He flipped through the texts from Hayner first. They were just related to his no-show at the cafe this morning. Nothing new. Not anything important. Then there were the voicemails. The first three were from Pence before he'd managed to catch his fourth call. Roxas deleted each one without listening. The final message was from his grandfather, had come in sometime later in the evening before he'd remember to switch his phone from do not disturb mode back to vibrate.

As Roxas lifted the phone up to his ear, the cab turned a corner, then slowed nearly to a stop. The way in front of them seemed pretty heavily blocked.

Fuck. Between his shitty health and rush hour traffic, there was just no catching a break today.

"Please call me back when you get this,  _min son_ ," Roxas heard his grandfather say over the line. "The hospital says you missed your appointment yesterday..."

Wait,  _what_?

"I know this is a hard for you," the recorded voice continued, "but I think we need to have a talk."

As the message ended, Roxas felt his shoulders tense. He forced himself to play the words back in his head, searching for any possible alternate meaning. Missed his appointment? Like hell. That goddamn hospital and its inability to keep track of everything from visitor check-ins to their own doctors' identities and schedules. Now their disorganization was likely to end him up in hot water with his  _farfar_.

He so didn't need this right now.

Looking up, noting they still were hardly moving, Roxas exhaled a frustrated breath he'd hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "Is there any other route you could take?" he asked the driver. "Maybe across Liberty Street instead?"

As he spoke, Roxas kept his hands busy pulling up the hospital's number from his phone's contact list.

"I can try," the driver said, flipping on his turn signal and craning his neck to see if there was a way to get over to the far right lane. "But it could be just as busy. It is still rush hour."

Pursing his lips, Roxas flicked the call button on his phone, didn't respond further to the cabbie in front of him. Glancing at the clock readout on the taxi's display, he saw with increasing anxiety that it was already past eight-thirty.

If he didn't end up losing his job from this, it was going to be a goddamn miracle. And he was going to owe Hayner so hard for covering him, he might never hear the end of it.

Finding an opening in the line of vehicular traffic, the cab turned onto Liberty. To Roxas' extreme relief, traffic seemed to be moving a little better on this street than the last.

He rushed through the hospital's automated recording choices, fingers jabbing at numbered options before the list had even been fully read off, then waited for the sound of the system's usual telltale ringing.

"Good morning, long-term care unit," a male voice greeted him through the line.

"I think the hospital made a mistake about my visit yesterday," Roxas said, not bothering with a standard greeting. "Is it possible to verify an appointment check-in?"

At the man's request, Roxas provided the requisite information — his name, his mother's room number, and the time he had been scheduled to meet with Dr. Havartin. He was put on hold while the receptionist searched the hospital computer system for confirmation of his presence.

"Looks like this route has heavy traffic as well," the cabbie called over one shoulder. "We're close enough that it might be quicker to get out and walk."

Agh.

With a curt nod, Roxas glanced at the fare calculator, then pulled out his wallet and passed some money to the driver. "Keep the change," he said as he hopped out of the backseat, slammed the door, and made his way to the closest sidewalk.

The phone crackled a little, a brief static disturbance as the man came back onto the line. "Our records are reflecting the appointment as a no-show, sir. Would you like to reschedule?"

"I  _checked in_  at the front desk yesterday," Roxas replied, voice taking on a hard edge. How the hell hard was it to match up their electronic records with a signature on a dinky sheet of paper?

"Sometimes these things aren't input into our system properly. My apologies, sir," the receptionist said, sounding properly conciliatory. It served as a reminder to Roxas that there was really no use losing his calm with someone who'd played no role in causing the error in the first place. Half-tempted to ask about Dr. Crescent again, Roxas ultimately decided to focus on the most pressing matter at hand. If they didn't have a record of him visiting yesterday, it probably wasn't going to help him much to ask about anything else from his phantom visit. Or anyone else, for that matter.

As Roxas began to make his way through a crowd of pedestrians, weaving his way the few blocks that remained between his current location and WTC 2, Roxas paused with a sizable number of other people at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The receptionist continued to speak.

"Don't worry," he said. "This isn't something you'd be charged for."

Good. Because it's not like he could really afford much more at this point. He'd just been lucky that his mother's insurance had covered most of her medical expenses, that anything above and beyond had been taken care of by an outpouring of fundraising support from New York's professional dance community. It's not like his father had offered to help in any way.

"Okay. Is there any way to reschedule for some other time this week?" he asked, determined to get this mess straightened out. This time he wouldn't hesitate, he told himself. He'd sign the damn paperwork, just like he'd promised, say his good-byes. Officially move on.

"I'll check." Roxas listened to the sound of rapid typing, rhythmic and staccato, across the line. "It looks like he has time available tomorrow afternoon at three, if that'd work for you," the man said.

Roxas actually had class at three, the same as on Monday. At this point, it hardly mattered though. He could probably get his old counselor to write the professor a note if it ultimately came down to that.

After all, if he really followed through tomorrow as he'd intended, it wasn't like he'd have a reason to miss any other classes for the rest of the semester.

"Yeah, that's fine. Please put me down for that. And," he continued, figuring the sentiment couldn't hurt, "please tell Dr. Havartin I'm sorry for the mix-up."

You know, just in case he actually was losing his mind and really hadn't shown up, he thought. Good old Sorenson cynicism. It was a gift as much as a curse.

A flash of pink caught his attention, seen out of the corner of one eye, right as the crosswalk light turned green. As Roxas followed the current of pedestrian traffic, he craned his neck, spotted the familiar shade of hair again. He blinked, trying to focus his bleary eyes a little better as much as make an attempt to remember where he'd seen it before.

It came to him a few seconds later.

Oh, right. Demyx. Drinks. Dancing at Vessel.

Well, how about that?

The man was walking briskly, matching the flow of pedestrians around him, head down, typing on what Roxas could only assume was a smartphone. Picking up his pace as much as was possible in the current crush of walkers, Roxas found himself following the distinctive pink hair until the guy turned a corner in the opposite direction Roxas was headed and disappeared out of sight.

Okay, that had been totally pointless. And the man's appearance, annoyingly enough, had simply served as a reminder of Demyx, that there was more than one person from the last few days he probably wasn't going to get the chance to see again.

It'd just be a heck of a lot easier to curb his irritation in favor of focusing on his planned destination if there weren't so many people blocking his way. Every time he encountered an impasse, Roxas found himself looking down at his phone, continually gauging the time.

8:42 am. Four blocks left.

8:44. Three blocks. This was getting ridiculous.

8:45. Two and a half.

Thirty seconds passed with Roxas still struggling through the Lower Manhattan crowds, fighting the temptation to check his phone another time yet again.

Another half a minute.

And then...

A flash of fireball orange lit up the sky overhead, followed by a sound so deafening everything around him went dead silent. Nearby, pedestrians covered their ears, mouths open, in wordless expressions of surprise. Roxas stared directly at the source of the disturbance, head protesting, completely disoriented. A beat later, Roxas realized some people around him seemed to be crying out. He just couldn't  _hear_  anything, could only stare at the spectacle, eyes wide, body rigid with shock. He took in a shuddering breath and felt pain at the side of his head, as a high-pitched sound began to develop in his left ear, steadily rose in an earnest crescendo. Coupled with the lingering sinus pressure, it was almost too much to bear. Copying the people nearest around him, Roxas raised his hands to his head, pressing them against both ears in a futile attempt to block out the incessant humming sound. He felt something moist meet the palm of his left hand and jerked it away, eyes widening as he noticed the thin trail of blood.

What…? What had just  _happened_?

A moment later, the sky opened, showering what felt like tiny pin-pricks of hail all around him. Frightened, Roxas closed his eyes, hunching his shoulders, had enough sense to wonder how it could possibly be hailing on a warm, sunny day. Cracking an eye open just enough to inspect the ground by his feet, it took him a moment longer to realize the rain was, in fact, a deluge of shattered glass.

Hearing began a slow, filtered return to his right ear, but sound was still muffled, as though coming from a distance. As glittering glass continued to fall all around him, as dust and other street debris rose up to meet the macabre form of crystalline rain, Roxas was finally able to discern the screams and other noises of general mayhem.

And words, snippets of sentences, originating from those shouting at their companions, sometimes even at total strangers.

"Some sort of bombing…"

"Can anyone—"

"…was it terrorism?"

"—call the fire department."

Roxas shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. The pain in his ear intensified with the action, people blurring in and out of focus as he struggled to keep his wits about him. He was only half successful at stifling a low, strangled groan. He took an uncertain step forward, unsure which direction he'd been meaning to walk toward anymore.

"…at the World Trade Center buildings."

Roxas froze at the words, felt panic rise up into his throat before even being able to identify why the referenced buildings would even warrant such a reaction …trying to remember why they would hold any importance to him whatsoever. Still clouded, his mind finally caught up, offered him a definitive, horrifying answer. Another instant and he felt an acute sense of dread. Forming in the pit of his stomach, it spread up through his chest, threatening to close the already tensing muscles in his throat completely.

He stumbled forward blindly, not mindful of the glass crunching beneath his sneakers as he pushed his way opposite of the direction most of the crowd was now retreating to get away from the buildings. A few hands grabbed at him, but each time Roxas wrenched himself free, forced himself to keep going.

 _Hayner_.

The glass had stopped falling but the sky remained hazy, a hint of orange in the sunrise that looked closer to ominous than natural cresting over the tops of buildings in the direction he was heading.

 _Pence_.

He reached a crosswalk, noticed the light was red. Cars crowded the intersection, half of them turned off or stalled, their occupants either sitting, stunned and staring toward the Twin Towers in the distance, or already completely gone. Still holding a hand over his ear in what he already knew to be an ineffectual attempt at stemming the pain, Roxas dodged between the cars and across four lanes. One more block. He was almost there.

 _Olette_.

This couldn't be happening. They had to be okay. Roxas fished his phone out of a pocket, this time hoping for notifications, for someone trying to reach him, even just a single message that would let him know his friends were safe.

There'd been no calls. No texts.

Nothing.

Roxas slowed his pace, continued to stare at his phone, as though he might be able to produce the desired message through sheer force of will. He took in the time, vaguely noted it was 8:55. Even if he had shown up on time this morning, Roxas realized, it was still too early for Hayner to have opted for a break.

This was taking forever. Feeling on the verge of near-hysteria, Roxas sucked in a breath of air, then coughed as the taste of dust hit the back of his throat.

"Roxas! Hey!"

Between the noisy chaos around him and his own impaired hearing, Roxas wasn't entirely sure he'd heard properly — not until he felt the familiar weight of someone's hand on his shoulder.

Relief rushed through him. Oh, thank god. Almost able to see Hayner in his mind's eye, Roxas turned around, preparing to grab his friend into a fierce, crushing hug. He stopped short when he saw who had actually called out to him.

"… _Axel_?" His voice was hoarse, but there was no misinterpreting the incredulity written plainly on his face.

"Where did you… I mean, what are you  _doing_  here?"

The man's expression was grim, eyes darting around them as though assessing his surroundings. Calculating something.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice rising to a range that was audible for Roxas above the rest of the pandemonium.

Yeah, well, neither should you, Roxas thought. Why would Axel even be in this area, if not to come visit him at work again?

That was probably exactly it, come to think. What other explanation could there possibly be?

Roxas followed Axel's gaze as he glanced down at his digital watch. It was 9:00 now exactly.

Axel looked at Roxas, jaw clenching as his eyes traveled to the hand still pressed crushingly up against Roxas' bleeding ear. "We need to get away from here.  _Now_." He reached for Roxas' free arm, grabbed him by the elbow, tried to pull Roxas toward him and away from the smoking building just a few hundred yards away.

"Wait!" Roxas dug in his heels. "No! I can't. My friends—" He gave a slight tug but Axel didn't release his grip on Roxas' arm.

Instead, the man's fingers tightened, crushing, causing Roxas to gasp at the unexpected pain.

"We don't have time for this," Axel practically shouted, dark eyes narrowing into near-slits as he tried to pull Roxas closer. "We really, truly  _don't_."

Without being fully aware of it, Roxas stared back at Axel, mouth slightly open, bewilderment flashing across his face. This… this was not anywhere near the demeanor of the person he'd first met at his work kiosk five days ago. This wasn't the good-natured guy he'd flirted with on Saturday night, who'd kissed him and set his nerves off in a pleasant flutter less than twelve hours ago. Something about Axel today was… off, even beyond the insanity of their current surroundings. Something about this entire encounter didn't seem quite right.

 _Hayner. Pence. Olette._ The names kept repeating in his thoughts, a cruel, mocking reminder of the time he was wasting.

With renewed effort, Roxas jerked his arm out of Axel's grip, making note of the surprised expression that crossed the man's face for only a split second before he turned back in the direction of the the World Trade buildings and began running.

His friends needed him.

"Wait! Roxas!"

He barely registered Axel's words as he continued to sprint, each step taking him a little further away from Axel, toward the people who meant more to him than anything.

In his mind, he'd managed to get a substantial head-start, the panicked hysteria spurring him on at a speed that there was no way anyone not as desperate as he could ever hope to match. That was why it was such a surprise, such an unanticipated shock to his already overwhelmed system, when he was suddenly brought to a screeching halt by a pair of arms, grasping at his shoulders, yanking his hand away from his ear as his arms were wrenched unceremoniously behind his back at an awkward angle.

"Axel!" he bellowed. " _Let. Go._ "

The man jerked him closer but didn't respond, Roxas continuing to struggle as he only half noticed a band, metallic and cold, being slipped over his right hand. Unable to turn to glare at his captor in this constricted position, Roxas looked across the street, toward the two buildings in front of him. So close. So impossible, futilely far away to actually reach.

Roxas looked up, expression crestfallen…

…and saw Axel hurrying toward him.

Disbelief colored his features, welled up in his throat. It quickly twisted, warping into a feeling of increasing incertitude.

If Axel hadn't grabbed him, then who…?

"Time?" Axel yelled, cutting through Roxas' jumble of thoughts, tone bordering on frantic. Roxas blinked, uncomprehending, before realizing Axel was looking well over his shoulder. Axel was talking to his  _captor_.

"You took longer than anticipated," an unfamiliar voice responded, oddly calm for the destruction and panic surrounding them. "We have about thirty seconds."

Roxas watched, wide-eyed, as Axel wrung his hands. His gaze dropped to Roxas, brows knitting together as he seemed to be trying to decide on something.

Dark eyes rose up again to a point over Roxas' shoulder. "Leave him," he said, face contorting into a look of righteous ferocity. "We need to get out of here."

Roxas felt the pressure on his arms released, almost lost his balance without the unrelenting weight of the person behind him. He only had a second to note the retreating silhouettes of the two men before they vanished into what remained of the crowd, had even less time to make sense of the flash of pink hair he'd just seen running beside Axel.

Raising his arms to stretch his aching shoulders, Roxas caught a glimpse of the object that had been slipped over his hand. It was a band, polished and silver, with no apparent clasp or any other visible fastening — something that fit so snugly onto his wrist, there was no logical way for the pink-haired man to have been able to get it over his hand in the first place.

Bewildered now by more than just his throbbing head, Roxas reached out, touched the band with a few tentative fingers of his free hand.

The response was immediate. Roxas jerked his left hand back as the circlet began to pulsate a cerulean blue, sending an uncomfortable thrum of sensation up his arm and into his chest in the process.

His surroundings distorted as though he was looking out from the inside of a fish bowl. Afraid to touch the band again, still disoriented from the encounter with Axel and the other man, Roxas grabbed for his phone, the closest familiar object currently in his possession, and clicked through to the lock screen.

9:03.

Another explosion, this one so blindingly bright, Roxas was forced to close his eyes. He stumbled backward at the force of the blast, found his back solidly colliding into an invisible barrier. It took him another instant to realize that the debris that was raining down all around him again wasn't actually connecting with his head or any other part of him.

Frantically, he clawed at the nearly invisible confines, ran his hands around all sides before realizing he was trapped. The walls of the enclosure were warm but hard as steel. Impenetrable.

Even more frightening, whatever this was mostly wasn't even visible, giving him a clear view of the devastation taking place directly in front of him.

Smoke was billowing upward from both the North and South Towers, although it was the latter that Roxas found himself unable to take his eyes off of. Debris was falling from both buildings, from the distance appearing as mere specks, flailing erratically upon descent.

Something about it seemed unnatural, each one's spiraling plummet not indicative of objects that should be static, immobile.

His confinement shimmered, for a few seconds turned entirely sheer, before deepening in solid color in a measured, rippling wave. It was just enough time for Roxas to get one final view.

…just enough time to realize those specks twisting, spinning, spiraling toward the ground were people. Individuals who had jumped from the towers.

His enclosure shimmered once more, turned a solid concentrated grey, before erupting into a ball of opulent white, and jolting him straight off his feet.

Back hitting the unyielding wall behind him, mind still reeling at the horrors he'd just seen, this time it was Roxas who cried out.

It was Roxas who screamed.


	7. Chapter 7: Interim

**Interim**

* * *

_"What are you," I whispered._

_He shrugged again._

_"Something," he said. "Something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel." He laughed. "Something like that."_

"Skellig" - David Almond

* * *

Hands. Hands all over him, caressing, exploring. Fingers cresting like a wave, languid over the curves of his burning flesh, undulating.

Breathless. He was gasping, body on fire, chest rising and falling, only partially successful at stemming the off-balance rush each successive touch brought on, fiercely relentless.

Darkness. Eyes open, seeing nothing. Just knowing, without question, they both were falling, falling. The hands pressed against him, mouth finding a tender spot at the base of his neck. A ragged exhalation of breath turned itself inside out, transforming into a soft moan at the back of his throat.

Ecstasy. Back arching, hips pressing against the lap of another. Heat rising, yet he was still falling, plummeting toward a complete unknown.

_I've been having these weird thoughts lately…_

_Like, is any of this for real… or not?_

Silver hair, wild ocean eyes. Longing, searching mouth pressed against increasingly amenable lips. He was helpless but somehow, in some way, subtly whole. And suddenly, he found himself, quite simply, giving in.

Fingers wrapping, twined around a handful of hair on the top of his head. Kisses trailing, from temple to ear, down to the flushed skin of his cheek. The free hand slid slowly down to chest, then stomach, onward to the lowest point of his waist.

A touch, another yearning moan, the hand finding heat between jutted, narrow hipbones. Body rigid, realization nigh, the boy froze. He let out a strangled, guttural cry.

_What are you so afraid of?_

Mouth still pressed against his cheek, he felt the other's lips rise, a practiced curve upward, the impression of a smirk.

_Power sleeps within you. If you give it form…_

Hands gone, all alone. Eyes open, sky whirling, distorted above. All around him ocean, roiling, churning. Still helpless to slow his descent, the rush of wind and water flowing past his ears, still spiraling uncontrolled, downward.

Then, silence all around him, as deafening as the rush of water, as overwhelming as the frenzied passion that had come before.

And out of it, a voice. Resonate, sure. It vibrated in the cage of his chest, then delved further, straight to the tremulous core of his uncertain, incomplete, vulnerable soul.

_You are the one who will open the door._

o - o

He heard the waves before actually feeling the water around him, lapping at his legs, sun beating harshly onto his exposed face. The air held a salty tang that reminded him of childhood vacations with his family before everything had fallen apart.

And gulls. He could hear them, squawking, clacking their beaks together in conversation, flapping their wings nearby. It was a melody, but discordant with the steady rhythm of other aquatic sounds.

Then, laughter, feminine and good-natured, directly above his head.

Eyes slow to open, bleary and sensitive to the sun overhead, Roxas squinted, made an attempt at identifying the newcomer.

Was it — could it be …Olette?

He started at the sight of an unfamiliar face, sitting upright in a split-second and making an undignified sound of surprise in the process.

The girl laughed again, her grin widening, realizing she'd caught him off-guard. "You lazy bum," she said, stifling another giggle. "I knew I'd find you snoozing down here."

She'd known? Really? Because he sure as  _hell_  didn't know her.

Roxas blinked, spared a glance around.

This …was not the Jersey Shore. Not even close.

"I wasn't sleeping," he answered, voice testy, sounding high-pitched and awkward to his own ears. "This huge, black thing swallowed me up," he rushed on. Vaguely, he was aware of just how completely  _stupid_  he sounded. "I couldn't breathe. I couldn't— _ow_!"

Reaching a hand up, he gingerly rubbed the back of his head.

Had this girl — this veritable stranger — just  _smacked him_? What the fuck?

A smug expression passed over her face. "Are you still dreaming now?"

He glowered at her. "It wasn't a dream!"

Or was it? Roxas really, truly didn't know.

"Yeah, sure." The girl rolled her eyes. Then, standing straighter, she took a few steps away, toward the ocean, its waves lapping closely to both of their feet.

Roxas eyed her, still disoriented and suspicious, fingers burrowing into the warm sand at both sides of his hips. She was wearing a sleeveless white shirt, a pastel pink skirt — attire that wasn't too far off from what Olette would probably have opted for on warm, sunny days like this one in New York.

But that bob of crimson hair was nothing like his friend's. And, judging by a quick look at the palm trees bordering his surroundings, this was a far cry from even Long Island, let alone Manhattan.

"Hey," a deep, masculine voice called out. "Aren't you guys forgetting about me?"

The girl turned, eyes wide with recognition, smile warm and welcoming. Roxas turned a moment later himself to get a clearer view of the silver-haired newcomer, blinked once as the sun hit his eyes square-on.

When he next opened them, everything was pitch black, the air colder, more ominous. Both the boy and girl were gone. The only sounds around him were the violent rustlings of wind as it gusted through nearby palm trees. Above him, lightning flashed, a blend of white and royal purple across the night sky. The rumbling sound of thunder soon followed, along with a sprinkling of rain.

As the first drops hit him, Roxas shuddered, drew into himself. It was a reminder of another hail storm that was still fresh in his memory, of crystalline shards pealing against the ground around him, crunching under his feet.

Another bolt of lightning lit up the angry sky, illuminating a structure not far off: a dock. Pushing himself to his feet, Roxas stumbled forward, only half-aware of the completely ridiculous looking, oversized yellow shoes he now seemed to be sporting.

By the time he arrived, his hair was damp, shirt soaked with a combination of rain and sweat.

And, Roxas realized a split second later, he wasn't actually alone.

At the edge of the dock, the guy from earlier was standing, back facing Roxas, eyes trained on what looked like a spherical hurricane of raging wind above both of their heads. Despite his better judgment, Roxas found himself moving forward, felt a deep-seated need to get closer.

When he was a mere handful of feet away, the young man turned, craning his neck over one shoulder. "The door has opened," he said, voice strong and assured, rising above the wind into an audible range. "Now we can go to the outside world."

"What?" Roxas shook his head, pushed wayward strands of hair out of his face, then took another step closer. "What are you talking about?"

The boy turned, facing Roxas full-on. He was at least a full head taller, and Roxas noted the defined muscles of his bare arms with an odd, unsettling sense of familiarity. "Once we step through, we might not be able to come back," the boy said, ignoring the question Roxas had just posed entirely.

Roxas gawked at him. Why the hell should he care? He didn't even  _live_  here.

"We may never see our parents again," the boy continued, "there'll be no turning back. But this may be our only chance."

Only chance for  _what_ , Roxas wanted to ask with increasing frustration. This guy wasn't making any fucking sense.

Reaching out a gloved hand, silver hair whipping violently in the wind, Roxas was offered an expectant look.

"We can't let fear stop us. I promise I'll protect you. I'm not afraid of the darkn—"

The boy's words were cut off by another flash of light in the sky, this one so blinding, Roxas was forced to close his eyes. The aftershock felt like an explosion, and a moment later, he was knocked off his feet, his back colliding with something warm but impenetrable. Hard as steel. The sudden halt to his trajectory snapped his head back. It hit the barrier he'd just been thrown up against with an audible crack.

Darkness quickly flooding his consciousness, Roxas sensed nothing more.

Except… one word.

" _Sora_ …"

…and a desperate, keening plea.

"Open your eyes. Oh, stars. Get up, Sora. Wake up!  _Please_."


	8. Chapter 8: Tremors

**Part II: Tremors**

* * *

_"Where does the time go? I don't know_

_It's moving underneath me_

_Like I'm moving in slow-mo(tion)_

_I reach out though_

_It passes too quick to see me."_

"Time Go" - Caught a Ghost

* * *

" _Morere in igni_ ,  _filius canis…_ "

He was floating, drifting somewhere between consciousness and someplace far darker. He heard the unfamiliar words, muttered in an exasperated tone, with only the vaguest interest in discerning their meaning. Everything felt so far-removed. Insignificant.

" _Triginta_   _secundis_ , Marluxia?  _Vere_?!"

_Thirty seconds? Seriously?_

That voice. Deep, resonate. He remembered how it had made him feel when whispered close to one ear. It was starting to come back to him, albeit slowly. That voice, and the person who came with it. By now he thought he might recognize them anywhere.

Roxas blinked, forced his eyes to remain open, suddenly intent on searching for the speaker — or at least figuring out where he was at the moment.

His surroundings were silvery, translucent enough to make out the shadowy figures nearby but not much more. Still seated where he'd fallen, Roxas reached out, pressed his fingers against the nearest part of the enclosure. It was still warm to the touch. Out of curiosity, he increased the pressure until his entire hand was laid flat against it.

Yeah, he noted, definitely still solid.

" _Hoc uestrum_ ,  _non mea_ ," came a reply to a question that was already receding into the depths of his memory. The voice was emotionless, calm, its message indisputable.  _This is your doing, not mine_. It made Roxas think of pink, of vodka and dance clubs, an unyielding grip, and the madness of a smoking, dying building in front of him. It took him a moment longer to realize the foreign words were blending together with those more familiar to him, into something that he could actually understand.

" _Tempus_  fucking  _maledicetur_. When did Twenty-One Century become such an utter trainwreck?"

The first voice, irate and tense, rang painfully in his good ear. Still unable to hear anything out of his left, it rendered him effectively deaf on one side, requiring Roxas to tilt his head in a particular direction to get a better sense of what was being said. At the same time, his enclosure was beginning to lose its silvery sheen, allowing him to take in more of his surroundings through bleary, unfocused eyes.

What he saw wasn't particularly striking. They were in a room, dimly lit. No windows and unadorned walls, everything nondescript. Axel and the pink-haired man stood off in the distance, at the opposite end of the space, on either side of a large desk, the room's only notable piece of furniture. It was ornate, seemed ancient, made of what looked like a single piece of dark-ringed wood.

Behind it, feet propped up on the desktop, arms bracing the back of his neck, sat…

…Demyx, hair still buzzed on the sides but the tresses a whole lot longer than Roxas remembered.

"Aww, c'mon," he said mildly. "It wasn't all that bad. They had okay music. And decent food. I kind of liked it."

Roxas saw Axel shoot the blond a dark look. "Yeah, well, you didn't have to wear the torture devices they call contact lenses.  _You_  weren't almost blown to pieces in a time-forsaken act of domestic terrorism."

As they continued their back-and-forth exchange, Roxas slid from his seated position onto his knees, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, using the shimmering walls of the enclosure for balance. He noted the circlet still secured to his wrist, remembered the anxiety it had induced when it had started to pulsate before everything else around him had gone to complete hell, the details of which were still fuzzy in his mind. It was like he was trying to remember a far-off dream but was still groggy after having just woken up.

No, he told himself. It hadn't been a dream. It was more like a memory, just scattered, out of reach from the distracting pounding in his head.

The circlet was still pulsing now, but it was a gentle, soothing rhythm, rather than the heated, insistent blue he remembered from before.

The pulses seemed to be fading by the second now, in tandem with the silvery confinement all around him.

Axel reached for the band keeping his dark hair in place at the back of his head at the same time that Roxas' enclosure dissolved completely. Two pairs of eyes turned toward him, but Roxas found himself fixated on the one person who hadn't noticed him yet, on the man who'd just released his hair from its banded tie.

Axel shook his head once, then again. Roxas gaped as with each passing movement the man's hair color changed, as if every successive shake of the man's head was giving it newfound life. Starting from the roots and working on down, it brightened, color initially morphing erratically until the whole of it filled out, from recognizable brown to a lurid, almost violent looking shade of red.

"Ah, you made it!"

Roxas might have ignored the words entirely, if Demyx hadn't followed them up with a staccato clap of his hands. The sound rang in Roxas' head, vision blurring out of focus as his temples began to throb in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar.

Swinging his legs off the desk, Demyx stood, straightening the long coat he was wearing, details an indistinct blur of black fabric and silver accompaniments in Roxas' current state. It looked out of place, strange and ominous, on someone who seemed suited to jeans and a t-shirt, or other more laid-back attire.

His eyes moved away from Demyx, over to the pink-haired man, then came to a rest on Axel. Bright green eyes returned his gaze, sharp tattooed marks beneath them drawing his attention as though pointing up at hair he knew should have been dark brown. Hair that  _had been_  the right color just few seconds earlier. For a moment, the pair regarded one another in silence, Axel sedate, Roxas subtly swaying, off-balance and still completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of unknown variables about the current situation. Red hair blurred in and out of focus, the color reminding him of a long-forgotten childhood toy. Green eyes seemed to dance, emerald orbs unencumbered by the physics of gravity as they flickered oddly at the creases along both sides.

And the tattoos… the tattoos reminded him of…

_Glittering purple diamonds._

Oblivious to Roxas' internal musings, Demyx took a few steps toward him, offering the newcomer a wide, happy grin.

"It's seriously an honor," he said, forcing Roxas' tenuous grasp on something even remotely resembling focus away from Axel, away from the nebulous imagery of dreams recurring. Despite his disorientation, despite his increasing fear, as Demyx approached and reached out an arm as though intending to shake his hand, Roxas couldn't even muster the energy to flinch.

"Welcome home, Sora," the blond said, expression open, blue eyes dancing with apparent excitement.

Sora…?

_There is so very much to learn._

No longer fully cognizant of his surroundings, Roxas began to shake, body trembling under the strain of all he'd experienced that day. Demyx's smile warped, altering from friendly to increasingly uncertain. Maybe even a little worried.

Then everything melted out of focus around him, lights dimming further, until only Roxas was left, alone in darkness.

Alone with that one, persistent voice at the back of his mind, and he was slipping away. Roxas was falling again.

_Feckless boy. You understand so little._

o - o

_Half-conscious, he felt himself lifted…_

_Strong, sure arms. Pulled away from the horror. Long, slender fingers. A soothing voice. Murmured tones._

_Shimmering silvery silence, all around him. Something completely new._

Eyes still closed, Roxas groaned, sore muscles tightening, then releasing at uncomfortable, involuntary intervals.

_He felt so vulnerable, so small in the man's arms. Still, he found himself anticipating the foreign words of the savior who was holding him._

_"Pax, custos," the man said. This time, Roxas opened his mouth and finished the sentence for him, even though the words remained meaningless, their sentiment still unknown._

" _Veniet tempus, veniet_ …"

"Interesting."

The voice seemed to be talking about him, if not directing itself specifically at him. It pulled him away from the haze, made him acutely aware that he was once again conscious and, if not totally mistaken, unrestrained but lying prone on his back.

Above him, Roxas heard a quiet sound, as though someone was considering something carefully. Speculating.

With considerable effort, he opened his eyes — and found himself only inches away from another man's face.

A reasonable reaction would have been to jerk away. After what he'd gone through, it wouldn't have been totally irrational to lash out, maybe scream for help.

The man was exuding such an air of calm that Roxas found himself simply returning the gaze, mute as he took in the single blue eye just inches from his own. The other half of the man's face was concealed by thick strands of purple-blue hair long enough in some places to occasionally brush up against one shoulder of the man's black coat. It wasn't all that dissimilar to the one Demyx had been sporting, Roxas took time to note.

The eye moved to one side, as though looking somewhere beyond Roxas. A moment later, the movement was followed by a few precisely spoken words.

"You didn't tell me he speaks Latin."

There was a faintly reproachful quality to the man's tone, as though he was displeased by the revelation.

"I didn't  _know_. Maybe cut me a bit of slack here," a voice replied, tone immediately identifiable as Axel. Against his wishes, Roxas' heart fluttered, breathing increasing a noticeable margin as dueling impressions of the man seemed to war within his thoughts at a pace he couldn't even hope to keep up with in his current condition.

Except… yet again, there was something somewhat off. This time, in his present state of confusion, Roxas just couldn't quite put his finger on what.

"Is he gonna be alright?" another voice asked, entering the conversation. Roxas recognized it as Demyx, sounding as worried as he'd looked before everything had gone black in the room with the desk. Judging from a quick glance at his surroundings, Roxas surmised he'd been moved to someplace else, making him wonder just how long he'd even been out.

The man closest to Roxas turned, eyeing him with the scrutiny of a doctor.

Or maybe a juror. Was his fate in the process of being decided?

"Yes, of course," he said after a pause. Then, shooting off another admonitory look in what Roxas could only assume was Axel's general direction, he turned back to Roxas. "He's simply suffering the after-effects of being narcotized."

Roxas blinked, tried rather unsuccessfully to sit up. He managed to prop himself up onto quivering elbows before conceding that he wasn't going to manage anything further at the moment.

But… what had just been said? Was the guy saying he'd been drugged?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Axel scowl, then cross his arms over his chest. "Go ahead and judge my methods," he said, tone cutting, eyes narrowed. "Feel free to pretend your  _abundant, omniscient_  wisdom would have helped at all given the situation I was put in. I'm an assassin, for fuck's sake, not a bloody babysitter."

 _Assassin_?

Roxas' eyes widened at the same time that the man by his side raised one visible eyebrow. He let out a quiet scoff, clearly unimpressed, but didn't comment further.

The response seemed only to stoke Axel's ire. "You weren't  _there_ , Zexion," he said, each word clipped, sharp. "His schedule changed without notice and I had to come up with  _something_. You should be thanking me that I managed to get him here in one fucking piece."

Roxas felt himself shudder at the fury behind Axel's words, an involuntary reaction as he remembered the vice-like grip that man had recently employed in an attempt to restrain him by the arm. Even Demyx had started inching slightly away from Axel, closer to Roxas' bedside, eyes darting between the other two men with obvious nervousness.

Roxas could only stare, attempting to process the words flung back and forth around him, while trying not to shake too visibly in the process. Holding his upper body's weight on trembling arms was proving to be a formidable challenge.

Who…who  _were_  these people? And why did he have the distinct feeling that it wasn't even English they were speaking?

"You want me to thank you." Roxas glanced at the man, Zexion, next to him. The words were more a quiet statement than an inquiry.

Nearby, Axel said nothing, but didn't drop the sullen expression.

"You brought him here in one piece, yes, Axel. For that I commend you." Zexion's voice remained steady although Roxas thought he noted a slight emphasis on the final two words, a subtle sign of sarcasm. "And in so doing," he continued, apparently not yet done, "he has arrived with bruises, cuts, completely roughed up, and suffering a rupture in his left tympanic membrane. And time only knows how much emotional damage he's sustained as a result of your methods, as you call them."

Zexion paused for a breath before launching back into his lecture. "That's not to mention necessitating the use of a time band." Here, the man's gaze traveled down to the metallic circlet still sitting snug against Roxas' wrist. "I shouldn't have to remind you of the limitations on their continued availability."

Axel dropped his arms, furling his fingers into fists at his sides. "That was Marluxia's doing."

Turning his back on Axel entirely, Zexion reached out a hand, gently pressing Roxas back into a lying position on the bed, expression reassuring, benign. "No, Axel." He let out a sigh, hand moving to the side of Roxas' face, toward his impaired ear. "That was you and your inability to keep the boy out of harm's way in the first place."

Although he could no longer see Axel, Roxas heard the man move. A moment later, the acrid, burning scent of smoke teased at the perimeters of his clouded senses.

"He was  _not_  supposed to have woken up until well after the Towers event." The words were spoken quietly, but there was a dangerous edge to them, one that made Roxas tense beneath the hands still moving in gentle motions over one side of his face.

Towers…something about the reference seemed vaguely upsetting, somewhat nauseating to consider. Roxas ran Axel's words back through his mind, trying to organize his muddled thoughts into something that made an iota of sense.

Suddenly, it came to Roxas, what else was different about Axel. And Demyx.

Axel's words… or, actually, not the words themselves. It was the way he was speaking them.

"Your accent," he said, voice cracking, straining to make itself audible after inhaling so much dust, after screaming his throat practically raw.

Above him, Zexion paused, turned back toward Axel and Demyx with a questioning expression. Making up the final few steps of distance between them, Roxas saw Demyx come into view at the edge of his line of sight.

"Sorry, what now?"

Roxas tried again. "Your accents," he said. "You're… they're just... different." In actuality, despite the unsettling feeling that no one here but him was speaking English, all three men sounded exactly like him. Like Americans.

"Oh. Yeah." Demyx leaned slightly forward, fingers thrumming the edge of Roxas' bed like he was playing an instrument. "About that…" He shot a guilty look upward, first to Zexion, then over to Axel who sometime in the interim had moved closer, expression more schooled into neutrality rather than furious, much to Roxas' considerable relief.

"Now that definitely  _wasn't_  me," Axel said. For a moment, his gaze dropped to Roxas who looked back, still in a daze, not wholly sure what his current expression was conveying, just entirely convinced this was a man it was worth the effort being frightened of. His only saving grace was how cloudy his mind still happened to be. If Axel had flustered him when he was in his own element, among friends and familiar settings, there were no words for what this red-haired, green-eyed veritable  _demon_  of a man was making him feel now.

That, coupled with the fact that, oh yeah, he was pretty sure he'd been abducted, that he was being held captive for reasons unknown. The realization certainly didn't help settle his nerves any, even if he wasn't currently being restrained.

"Yeah," Demyx said, still looking sheepish. An arm reached back, fingers running through the longer strands of blond hair at the back of his head. "I might've been a few years off when I programmed the accents into our  _interioria_."

Roxas felt Zexion pause, his hands going still at the side of his face. Although he couldn't see Zexion's expression as he turned toward Demyx, Roxas found himself imagining the man's one visible eyebrow rising in response.

"How many years off?"

Shuffling in place a little, Demyx looked down at his feet. "Er, like, uh…hundred. Maybe a bit more."

"And once we'd made contact and realized the error, it wouldn't have made much sense to change it," Axel said, jumping in. "So, we became foreigners, said we were tourists, and a few other half-truths." One corner of his mouth turned slightly upward as though he found the situation humorous.

Another sigh, then Zexion turned back to Roxas. "You're lucky anyone was able to understand you at all." Then, directing his next words at Roxas for the first time during this entire affair, he said, "take a deep breath in. Let it out slowly."

As much as he wanted to protest, as much as Roxas wanted to push himself up and get the  _hell_  out of here, he found himself complying with the instructions. It was partially since he didn't know enough about his situation to competently plan his next move as much as it happened to be the feeling that he wasn't in anywhere near the physical condition to be able to even just sit up for longer than a few minutes at a time. Making an attempt to escape at the moment? Laughable, at best.

Plus, he didn't really want to test Axel's assertion that he was, in fact, some kind of assassin… which, by the way, what the actual fuck? It was like a line out of some poorly written B-movie action flick.

Or a scene from a dream he had never seemed able to totally shake...

As Roxas exhaled, Zexion's fingers moved again, palm pressing against the ear that had been injured. An odd sensation began to build up. Zexion's hand, though still warm, seemed to be producing cold air. The chill spread from his ear into the side of his face, before going deeper, into his nostrils, finally settling far in the back of his throat. Roxas sucked in another breath, then swallowed, tasted the lightest hint of peppermint.

"What did you just do?"

The question was quiet, Roxas still uncertain how his interjections into their conversation would be taken.

Zexion seemed nonplussed. "Your ear is in the process of healing. It should be fine in a few hours. What you're sensing now is a mere illusion to your central nervous system. Consider it a temporary reprieve from the pain during the internal process of reparation."

Reparation. Roxas blinked, a little confused. The meaning of that word fell closer to an atonement for a wrongdoing, rather than medical terminology related to healing. It was an odd choice of phrasing, he thought, to say the least.

Then again, what wasn't odd about this entire fucking situation he found himself in now?

It was possible that Zexion noticed Roxas' confusion, but he didn't acknowledge it further. Instead, he stood, scrutinizing Roxas as if surveying his work.

"The muscle soreness and bruises will remain," he said, albeit not unkindly. "I find they're a good reminder of one's mortality." He regarded Axel with a sharp look. "And an intimation of what continues to be at stake."

If Axel's expression changed in response to Zexion's pointed comment, Roxas ended up missing it, for at that moment, a fine mist seemed to permeate his surroundings in the wake of Zexion's retreat. The lighting dimmed, seemingly of its own volition. Without any inclination of his own that he wanted to go back to sleep, Roxas felt his eyelids become heavy.

He was vaguely aware of Demyx's continued presence nearby, clear blue eyes regarding him, concern still coloring his expression. "Just take it easy, Sora," the blond said. "Zexy is great at what he does. You'll be feeling more like yourself in no time."

The name made him bristle, half-cleared the fogginess from his mind as he acknowledged the discomfort he felt at being called it. Truth be told, Roxas wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be feeling more like himself if these people didn't even seem to know who he was to begin with.

"I'm not…" Roxas started to speak, but Demyx had already skipped away to the far end of the room, coming to a stop by Zexion. Nearby, a door slid open as though sensing their presence, and the pair departed without a further word.

And then there were two, Roxas realized with a sudden hike in anxiety: an injured, defenseless college student and, apparently, an assassin, even if just self-professed.

Too physically exhausted to lift his head, Roxas couldn't so much see Axel as sense his continued presence in the room. Without the constant pain in his ear and head, numbed by whatever it was Zexion had just done, there was far less to ground his thoughts. He was also far less freaked out than he probably should have been, as though his mind was in a state of enduring inertia. Not comfortable actually attempting sleep with Axel still so close, Roxas nevertheless closed his eyes. It helped keep the room from spinning, warping, twisting continually out of focus. Out of sight, out of mind, as well, he could only hope. As illogical as the thought was given the treatment he'd just apparently received, Roxas couldn't help but find himself thinking that if Axel was going to kill him, at least he wouldn't be forced to see it coming.

He heard Axel approach his bed, footsteps soft but audible. Unlike Demyx and Zexion in their long, dark coats, Axel still remained dressed in what Roxas last remembered of his New York street clothes.

Then nothing. Utter silence for a pregnant moment, until Roxas was tempted to open his eyes. At the same time, he was afraid of what he might see, what the man might be considering doing now that they were alone together while he was too incapacitated to defend himself.

Instead, Axel spoke, voice soft.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way, you know. I was just following orders."

Did that sound like a hint of ...regret?

Surprised, Roxas opened his eyes before he had a chance to consider what he was doing. Red hair assaulted his vision. Having difficulty focusing, it almost looked like Axel's face was framed by a wild ring of fire. He tried to give the statements that had just been uttered genuine consideration, knew he should be attempting to parse their meaning. Yet his thoughts kept spiraling back to what had been said before they'd been left alone, how he felt every time he returned to that one name in particular.

"You've got the wrong person," Roxas said, only vaguely aware of the laborious, slurred nature of his current speech pattern. "You know that what Demyx called me… that's not my name."

Expression unreadable, Axel simply returned his gaze. One arm reached out, brushed the back of Roxas' hand. Before Roxas could pull it away, Axel had already taken a step back. "I need to head out," he said, rather than addressing Roxas' assertion. "Zexion will have my head if he so much as thinks I'm preventing your recovery. So get some rest, will ya?" Axel's eyes seemed to be looking through Roxas now as he spoke, like his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He smiled to himself, the expression wry, more than a little knowing. "Believe me, kid, you're going to need as much of it as you can get." He made his way toward the exit, which slid open at his approach.

Craning his neck to keep the redhead in his line of sight, Roxas watched Axel retreat, mind still telling him he needed to be wary, should be observing everything in case it might be useful later. Axel stopped at the door. He paused before turning halfway back toward Roxas, taking one last look in his direction.

"And welcome to Time City," he said. Roxas noted the faint flicker at both sides of Axel's eyes as the man looked back his way. His smile was thinner now, seemed almost as though he was holding back something more akin to a grimace. "Or the hollow bastion of what once was Time City, if you wanna be technical."

Then Axel was gone, door clicking quietly shut in his wake. Head clouded, eyes still too unfocused to see with any real clarity, Roxas found himself alone once again. Alone and exhausted beyond measure, mind and body, both.


	9. Chapter 9

He'd resolved to stay awake, to keep his wits about him. Just in case Axel returned, Roxas wanted to be prepared.

Prepared for what, he really couldn't say with any level of certainty. He was just …scared. And, without a doubt in his mind, the exclusive reason for that unmitigated fear was Axel.

His body had been fatigued though, his mind craving the bliss of unconsciousness. Even if Roxas couldn't summon the finer details of the day back into his immediate thoughts, he was nevertheless exhausted from the emotional and physical traumas he'd experienced. Despite his best efforts to remain vigilant, to stay alert, Roxas eventually ended up falling asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, his body warm, face still cold from whatever sleight of hand Zexion had performed. If he'd had any control over the matter, Roxas might have slept forever, or at least until he could be assured of waking up back in the comfort of his own bed, alarm blaring, alerting him that the start of another normal day had arrived.

He wouldn't even have minded being disturbed back into consciousness by the otherwise annoying vibration of a call from one of his friends. Hayner, Pence, or Olette — any one of them would have been fine, a welcome reprieve from the confusing situation Axel had somehow gotten him tangled up in.

His friends hadn't come to his rescue. What Roxas got instead was a wet spongy tongue, first to his hand, then, mercilessly, straight to the side of his face.

He jerked awake, muscles protesting at the sudden movement after hours of complete stasis, eyes a rapid flutter of blinking as he tried to make sense of his unfamiliar surroundings.

A soft whine sounded. It was the only warning Roxas was offered before a large dog launched itself onto his bed.

With a yelp of surprise, Roxas covered his face with his arms, knees drawing up in front of his chest as he tried to protect his most vulnerable body parts from an anticipated mauling.

The dog pawed at him, dull claws scratching against his forearms before settling onto the bed next to Roxas and resuming its enthusiastic regimen of slobbering all over him. Its long tail stung as it whipped side to side, hitting various parts of Roxas with a nearly bruising impact.

"Agh, stop," Roxas said. He was feeling better but wasn't strong enough in his current state to push the over-sized animal completely away. Instead, he eyed it out of a gap in the barrier his arms had formed in front of his face. What the hell kind of dog was this, a Great-fucking-Dane? He'd never seen one with a coat this shade of orange-yellow if that was the case. While large, it also seemed a lot more agile than any Dane he'd ever encountered.

"Pluto!" A familiar voice called out. "Down, boy. Get down! Time alive, pup, get off the poor kid's bed."

Looking up, Roxas saw Demyx framed by the door at the far side of the room.

So much for waking up and determining an escape route before anyone returned to check on him.

The dog hesitated only a moment, seemingly torn between following Demyx's command and remaining to continue drooling down Roxas' leg. With a reluctant whine, it hopped off the bed and plodded over to the blond newcomer, gait off-kilter, tail wagging something furious.

" _Shev_ , you rascal," Demyx said, hands coming to a rest on his hips over his black coat. The dog settled onto its haunches, head upturned toward Demyx, tail still whipping back and forth with such rapidity it was a blur of orange against the grey stone floor. Apparently satisfied, Demyx grinned and reached into a pocket. " _Nifla_! See, it's nice when you actually listen." He tossed what appeared to be a dog treat into the open jowls in front of him.

Recognizing the word as the same one Demyx had used during their first phone conversation a few days ago, this time Roxas found himself understanding the expression as one of delight. It was like his mind, while noting that the term was foreign, had translated it automatically without any prior knowledge required on his part.

Baffled, Roxas shook his head. He realized an instant later that no pain accompanied the movement, not in his ear or head, not in his face where the sinus pressure should have been. His body was still sore, no doubt bruised in a few places. But he felt no pain above his neck. It wasn't that it was numb so much as it just simply didn't exist anymore at all.

His motions seemed to serve as a reminder of his presence, drawing Demyx's eyes away from the dog and over toward Roxas' bed. "Sorry about that," Demyx said, hand reaching back to twist a long strand of hair between two fingers. "He's just excited. We don't get guests all that often."

"Guests…" Roxas echoed the word, voice carefully neutral. Was that some sort of euphemism for a hostage?

Demyx bent down, fed the dog another treat and scratched behind its ears with clear affection before tilting his head up to regard Roxas again. "Well, yeah. We don't have much interaction with visiting students, our tourists are pretty boring, and the diplomats are more part of Chronologue's scope. I guess the Observers get to interact with people out in history, but I'm not an Observer, so…" Finally seeing the incredulous look Roxas was shooting him, Demyx trailed off, brows furrowing. "What?"

Roxas raised a hand up to his face, gingerly brushing it against his left ear. Still nothing. No pain or ringing. Perfect hearing. It had just occurred to him that he'd been listening to Demyx's rambling explanation without any difficulty. He wasn't a doctor, but recovering from whatever had happened to his ear seemed like it should've taken longer than a few short hours.

…shouldn't it have?

Instead of responding to Demyx directly, or even asking him what half of the words he'd just rattled off meant, Roxas changed the subject to something he considered a higher priority. "Where's Axel?"

_Because I'd like to fucking throttle him right about now._

Demyx's happy expression faltered, replaced with a look that was much more cautious. Uncertain. He stood up straighter, picking at a loose dog hair on the arm of his jacket. "I dunno. Probably getting debriefed or something." he said, voice lowering close to a mumble. If not for Roxas' restored ability to hear, he might not have caught every word with such clarity.

Debriefed…just what exactly was that supposed to mean? Weirdest abduction ever.

Or maybe just a very organized one, pulled off by people who knew what they were doing. Roxas wasn't horribly surprised that the possibility didn't make him feel any better.

The thought lingered, a mocking reminder that he didn't know shit all about his current predicament — at least not beyond what he could get someone like Demyx to potentially divulge.

He looked over at Demyx, still not sure how someone acting so outwardly friendly could be a part of this whole mess. At the very least, this guy didn't seem particularly dangerous. After a moment's pause, Roxas steeled himself and decided to take his chances with another question.

"Is Axel really an assassin?"

"Er…" Demyx hesitated, still looking uncomfortable. "I'm actually not supposed to be talking to you about this stuff. I just remembered." A sheepish look passed over his features. "Don't have the clearance. I was just instructed to see if you wanted some food."

Clearance? Like some sort of security measure? What had Axel said he did again before he'd gone off the deep end and started claiming to be a contract killer? Roxas could only remember it was something about compliance. Was that related to what Demyx had just mentioned?

The second part of Demyx's response registered with him an instant later.

Food. When was the last time he'd eaten? What time even was it now? Roxas wasn't sure he felt like eating, although the telltale signs of an empty stomach were present now that he stopped to take notice of them.

When he didn't initially jump in with a response, Demyx stole a glance his way again.

"Well…do you?" There was a hopefulness to his tone that seemed out of place, especially in someone who seemed up to his neck in the act of kidnapping him.

Seeing no other way to keep up his strength or any legitimate reason why he should refuse, Roxas finally nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice quiet, resigned. "I could eat."

Demyx's smile was back in an instant. "Cool," he practically chirped. "I'll go grab something from the automat."

He turned to leave, the dog trailing closely at his heels, before grinding to a halt so sudden it nearly had his four-legged companion knocking him straight off his feet. He recovered quickly, checking his balance and then turning back toward Roxas on the ball of one foot. "I think the one in this building only does Twenty Century stuff. That okay?"

"Um…?" Roxas stared at Demyx, shot him a look that conveyed just how clueless he felt about what the guy was going on about.

Expression turning contemplative, Demyx began reciting a list as if he had it memorized. "Pizza, bubblegum, cola-something-or-another. I think that might be it, actually. It's also got coffee, but I think that's from Sixteen Century so it might taste a little different from what you're used to."

 _Coffee_.

One simple word, and Roxas' stomach was roiling, the mere thought of the substance for some reason becoming quickly nauseating. If he hadn't been sitting down on the bed, he might have lost his balance in the first symptom of dizziness he'd experienced since waking.

"Just pizza," he managed to say. "And water. That'd be good."

Still offering up an eager smile, Demyx saluted. "Can do. Back soon!"

He turned again. This time, the door slid open, closing as soon as he and the dog had ventured beyond it.

Just like that, Roxas was alone in the room once again.

He was off the bed almost immediately, making his way toward the door through which Demyx had just disappeared. Three-quarters of the way there, Roxas stopped, realized he should probably exercise a bit of caution. For a moment, he held his breath, trying to discern if anyone was outside the door.

He heard nothing, just the stagnant weight of silence.

Exhaling, Roxas crept forward, anticipating making a run for it the moment the door slid open, or at least taking a peek outside his makeshift cell and trying to get his bearings. Just like the room where he'd first arrived, this space had no windows, just stone floors and walls. Apart from his bed, there was no other furniture aside from a small table and a few chairs, all of which were solid pieces of weathered looking timber like their cousin, the office desk.

He crept forward, one step, and then another, until he was just about the same distance as Demyx had been before the door had opened, allowing him to exit.

Nothing happened.

Perplexed, Roxas made up the few remaining feet between the door and his current location. He reached a hand out, noted with a sense of cerebral discomfort that the metal band was still encircling the wrist above his right hand. It wasn't doing anything anymore, not even gently pulsing. Just the fact that it was still there, that he didn't know of any means to remove it, was sufficient to set him on edge.

With a surge of determination, Roxas forced himself to ignore the thing, to reach out and place his hand on the frosted glass of the door in front of him.

Unlike the enclosure that had previously confined him, the door was cool to the touch. He ran his hands across the glass, then around the frame, feeling for some kind of clasp, maybe evidence of a lock. In the end, he was forced to concede that this new room was just as secure a cage, despite the difference in physical dimensions this new space provided.

Feeling defeated, Roxas let his arm fall to his side, not so much brushing against his pants as slapping his palm roughly against his thigh, a sign of his growing frustration. He froze as his hand connected with something solid in his pocket.

Could it be…? Would they really not have taken it off of him?

Stuffing his hand into the pocket of his pants, Roxas pulled out his cell phone. For a second, he just gawked at it. How could they have forgotten to search his pockets before leaving him alone? These people had orchestrated an abduction, were responsible for his injuries and maybe even the explosions still teasing uncomfortably at the edge of his memory. But they hadn't thought to check if he had a cell phone somewhere on him? That made no sense what-so-freaking-ever.

Roxas clicked past the lock screen, still not completely believing his good fortune, then pulled up his texts. He'd call the police in a second. First, he needed to get a message out to someone he knew would react, just in case Demyx returned before he could explain his situation to an emergency responder.

Fingers moving rapidly over the screen, Roxas shot off a message to Hayner, then copied it, first to Pence, then Olette. At this point, he wasn't willing to even try a group chat on the off-chance that it'd glitch out.

Next, to make the call that would get him the hell out of here.

As he dialed the emergency number, Roxas tried not to think about the fact that he didn't have a damn clue where here even was. He could only hope the 911 dispatcher would be able to trace his location through his mobile's integrated GPS.

His heart leapt as the phone's speaker clicked. A moment later, the call dropped.

Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit.

He tried again. The same thing happened. Looking at the status bar on the top of his screen, he noted the lack of signal with increasing agitation. It wasn't a weak signal; there wasn't one  _at all_. It wasn't even on roaming.

With a sinking feeling, Roxas returned to his text app. A quick look showed all three messages hadn't sent.

Wherever this was had no cell service. He was in a windowless room, with stone walls and floors, and a door that only opened for redheaded assassins, goofy looking dogs, and a dude with an idiotic '80s mullet.

It fucking  _figured_.

Increasingly anxious, he tried to regulate his breathing in an effort to keep calm. If Demyx was concerned about him getting food, it didn't seem like he was in any immediate danger. Roxas turned his back to the door, taking in his surroundings with weary eyes, fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline. A totally useless gesture, yeah, but at least it was something familiar. His head wasn't foggy anymore, thoughts no longer clouded, but it still felt like there was something he was forgetting, something waiting to well up and spill over at the edges of his consciousness, if only given the appropriate opportunity. It was like trying to remember a vivid dream after hours of being awake, something you knew you'd experienced that was nevertheless failing to come to the mind's forefront, despite every best effort expended.

Eyes moving restlessly around the small space, his gaze came to a stop at the bed across the room. Roxas blinked once, twice, then squinted, tilting his head a little to get a different perspective. This was the first time he'd gotten a decent look at where he'd been resting. Under the bedsheets, beneath a thin mattress a few feet above the floor, the bed looked very much like it was …floating. On nothing.

He took a few steps closer, convinced his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Even as he approached it, Roxas couldn't see any evidence that the bed was being held up by anything.

It was at that moment the door slid open again and Roxas heard the padding of feet advancing his way. So focused on the physical anomaly in front of him, Roxas started badly, a second later attempting to shove the cell phone back into his pocket and get it out of view. To his horror, it snagged on the top of the fabric, his fingers fumbling as he lost his tenuous hold on it.

The phone clattered to the ground a few inches from his feet, its raised case the only reason the screen didn't end up shattering. Panic welled up in his throat, suffocating in its intensity. Roxas whirled around, prepared to defend himself against the anticipated assault once it became clear he'd been trying to contact someone.

Demyx eyed the phone with a curious lack of concern. "Oh yeah," he said mildly. "I forgot to tell you that thing's not gonna work here." The words were spoken matter-of-factly, without the hint of smugness Roxas assumed would follow the realization that his attempt at seeking help had failed.

Behind the man, Roxas noticed a movement, something smaller than the dog. A person emerged, features obscured by a large, floppy hat and oversized cloak. The figure was carrying an armful of dishes and glassware, moving toward the table. He was small enough to be a child, Roxas noted, but the movements were skillful, precise.

"It'd be really cool to put it on display in the Annuate though. Elio would probably be thrilled," Demyx continued, oblivious to Roxas' distress. "I don't think we have one from Twenty-One Century. Ours were just passable knock-offs. And Marluxia never brings anything cool back when he gets time off, just greens and other boring junk."

Before Roxas could protest or make a grab for his phone, Demyx had moved, quick as lightning, and snatched it up. The only thought that kept Roxas from trying to wrest it out of his grasp was the lingering concern that this happy-go-lucky attitude was really a cover for unfettered insanity and that saying the wrong thing might just make the guy snap completely. At least Axel and that Zexion guy hadn't been smiling like idiots the entire time they'd been around him. With Roxas' growing concern over his current situation, Demyx's giddiness and his carefree nonchalance were both unsettling as fuck.

"Anyway," Demyx said, moving toward the table, "let's get some food into you. It'll just be something light though since dinner's not that far off," He beckoned to Roxas, who made his way over to the offered space, still cautious and observing everything. The person who'd arrived with Demyx had arranged two place-settings without a word, then had scurried off. The door opened at his presence, almost seeming to mock Roxas' failed attempt to traverse it just a few minutes earlier himself.

Demyx took a seat, indicating Roxas should do the same. Roxas did as instructed, hands resting on his thighs. For the first time, he noticed the raised square indicating his wallet had been left on him as well. What a small, sad little consolation prize, under the circumstances.

Roxas watched as Demyx studied his cell phone, light blue eyes shining with interest. "We can probably find a way to charge this," he said, seeming to consider the prospect. Then, with a shrug, he set the phone on the table and, placing two fingers against the screen, slid it back toward Roxas.

Roxas just stared at it, then glanced back up at Demyx. Was this some sort of trick? Or was the guy having a bit of fun at his expense? Unsure how to react, Roxas slipped his hand into a pocket, fingering the worn leather it found there, seeking the reassurance of a familiar object.

The door opened again, the small figure reappearing with Demyx's dog trotting happily by his side. Both made their way over to them and, as the man placed a rectangular metallic container and a pitcher of water at the table's center, Demyx leaned sideways, encouraging the dog to lie down at his feet.

"Thanks, Vivi," Demyx said, straightening up and reaching for the pitcher. The man inclined his head just slightly, the tip of his hat quivering minutely with the movement. Roxas' eyes returned to Demyx, watching as he poured them both a glass of water. When he looked up again, the tiny server, Vivi, was gone.

As Demyx reached for the container in front of him, he continued chattering. "I'm glad we could get that time-forsaken automat working. Sometimes it can be a little touchy." His tone was conversational like he was having lunch with a friend. "I think this variant of pizza even comes from New York so it should be pretty familiar." Roxas watched as he pulled a square slice of pizza out of its container and onto his plate, then looked up, apparently expecting Roxas to do the same. Without a word, Roxas copied Demyx, then eyed the food that he'd just set on his plate. Still suspicious, not entirely convinced anything he'd just been offered hadn't been laced with another potent sedative, Roxas kept an eye on Demyx, observing as the man started to eat his own slice, before reaching for his glass to take a long sip.

Roxas finally took a bite of his own food. He hadn't realized just how hungry he'd been until he actually started eating. He finished his first slice almost as quickly as Demyx. Then, before losing his nerve, he reached out and grabbed a second slice from within the container.

Despite Demyx's apparent contentment to just chew on food and smile benignly in his general direction once in awhile, the silence was unnerving to Roxas. It was making his mind wander to darker, more worrisome thoughts about his purpose for being here, not to mention what might end up being his ultimate fate once it was realized that this was a major case of mistaken identity.

His eyes traveled away from Demyx, around the room, returning to the floating bed. He was just about to ask Demyx what the crap was up with it when the dog shifted by his feet, whined quietly, its attention directed up at the slice of pizza in Roxas' hand.

"So…" Roxas started, deciding on a different tactic, voice still hesitant as he watched Demyx and tried to gauge how the man was reacting to his attempt at initiating conversation. When Demyx simply redirected his gaze across the table to him and continued eating, Roxas continued on. "You said his name was Pluto." Roxas inclined his head toward the dog who quieted as his name was uttered, now looking at Roxas with keen intensity.

"Are you, like, into astronomy or a Disney fanboy or something?"

It was an objectively dumb question, sure, but if it'd get Demyx talking, maybe Roxas could get him to let down his guard a little, possibly steer him back toward something more relevant to his current situation.

"No and nope." For a moment, Demyx simply looked at Roxas, lips curving into a much less manic smile than the ones Roxas was accustomed to seeing from him. It was almost akin to the expression Axel had shot him at Vessel, one part knowing, the other amused. Had that really been only a handful of days ago? It seemed like a lifetime had passed before him, his entire world turning irreparably upside down in the interim.

Roxas raised an eyebrow, not seeing why his question would inspire a look of such amusement.

Popping one last bite of pizza into his mouth, Demyx spoke between chews, apparently not fussed about talking with his mouth full.

"He's named after the Greek god of the dead."

Now it was Roxas' turn to cock his head. "I thought that was…" he reached into the depths of his memory, trying to remember what he'd learned in his freshman mythology course last year. "…Hades. Wasn't it?" 

Demyx shrugged. "Same difference. Hades and Plouton are, anyway. I just Latinized it 'cause I thought Pluto sounded cuter."

At the sound of his name, the dog let out a quiet yip, tail thumping in a steady, furious rhythm against the table's wooden leg.

Roxas shot the overjoyed dog a dubious look before reaching over to retrieve his glass of water. "And does he live up to that illustrious name?" he asked. The unexpected direction the topic had veered off in, onto a subject he'd always found interesting, had Roxas momentarily forgetting himself and the unequal dynamics of this back and forth exchange. He raised the glass to his mouth, took his first sip.

The taste of salt overwhelmed his senses a moment too late, after he'd already swallowed the first mouthful of what tasted like straight-up brine.

"Not really. He's kind of a spazz, actually," Demyx said. "His littermate got named Persephone so I just kinda decided to keep it consistent."

Roxas held back a gag but couldn't suppress a few coughs. The water's salty flavor quickly turned sour; it lingered in his mouth long after he'd forced it all down.

God, that was  _horrible_.

Apparently thinking Roxas was stifling laughter, Demyx shot him a grin. "Yeah, Sephi's a lot more regal than ol' Pluto here. He's a special case, actually."

When Roxas continued to cough, his face contorting into a starker grimace at the realization there was nothing available to wash away the taste with, Demyx finally took notice. "You okay over there,  _amice_?"

His expression intensified as the word formed an intelligible meaning in his thoughts. Was Demyx seriously referring to him as a  _friend_? What…

"…the hell kind of drink is this?" Roxas choked out, cheeks still puckering at the offensive taste.

Demyx's brows furrowed. "It's water. That's what you asked for, isn't it?"

"It tastes like you pulled it straight out of the Atlantic!"

Understanding flickered in Demyx's eyes. "Oh. Right. Your people prefer it stripped out, no nutrients, like you're drinking liquid-nothing. I totally forgot."

"My  _people_?" Roxas bit the inside of his cheek, trying to soften the caustic tone that was threatening to rise out of him. Silently, he reminded himself that he wasn't really in a position to be pissing anyone off at the moment.

Demyx nodded vigorously. "Yeah, Twenty-One Century." He spoke as if he was making an obvious distinction between the two of them. It was just like Roxas remembered Axel doing when he'd first arrived while talking to that pink-haired guy. Marluxia or …whatever. Reaching back into the pizza box, Demyx grabbed a slice, tearing at the crust until he had a sizable piece. He held it out toward Pluto, palm open, his expression turning contemplative. "Although maybe you don't qualify as one of them, come to think."

For a moment, Demyx kept his gaze down, watching as the dog gnawed at the crust like a flimsy bone. Eventually, he looked up back at Roxas out of the corner of one eye.

"You really don't remember, then?" His words were quiet. They sounded almost disappointed. "Time City? Faber John? The Gnomon? Not anything?"

Roxas couldn't be sure what word ultimately did it, or even if it was a combination of several in addition to Demyx's disheartened tone. Whatever the case, Demyx's questions opened a floodgate, a spark of righteous anger deep within him. Before Roxas had a chance to consider a more appropriate reaction, he felt something in him just ...snap.

"I already told Axel. You're confusing me with someone else." His words were clipped, expression incensed. Each word was enunciated with the same, inflamed cadence.

Then it got worse, his voice beginning to rise as he launched into what could only be described as a full-out tirade. "All I  _remember_  is being assaulted, then abducted by  _your_   _people_." The final two words had a harsh edge to them as Roxas turned Demyx's phrasing back on him. "Now I'm being held captive for who the fuck knows what reason, and you keep calling me the wrong damn name, just to top it all off."

He paused to take a breath, chest heaving at the emotional exertion, the unadulterated frustration associated with this predicament. Well, now was as good of a time as any to find out if Demyx's good-natured demeanor was just the mask of a deranged serial killer. There was only the smallest hint of irony in the thought.

The response he received was milder than anticipated. Demyx sighed, his expression turning almost pained. He ran a hand through his hair, absently tucking a longer piece behind one ear as his gaze moved away from Roxas.

"Did they ever pick the wrong guy for this one," he said, eyes fixed on someplace indeterminate across the room, tone a low murmur as though he was talking to himself. "Reconnaissance, fine. I can do that, no problem. But this," he said, eyes moving back to Roxas, "this is way outside of my skill set. Except maybe the pizza eating part."

_Gee, I'm sorry my presence is such a goddamn inconvenience for you._

Roxas said nothing, just held the man's gaze with a hard look of his own. Although his background knowledge of this guy was negligible at best, he'd noted a pattern the guy seemed to employ of trying to deflect serious comments or questions with almost slapstick humor. At this point, Roxas was anything but amused by it.

"Anyway," Demyx said, shaking his head as if to clear away the bothersome thoughts, "dinner's in about two hours and you can't really go looking like that."

Glancing down at his attire for the first time since his arrival, Roxas got the chance to see how godawful he looked. His shirt had already been kind of gross to begin with, since he'd fished it out of the dirty laundry pile in a panicked rush out the door that morning. Now it was soiled in areas, smudges of dirt streaking across his front in erratic patterns. His pants had the same disheveled appearance, except they were also wrinkled. There was even a jagged tear in the fabric at the bottom of one leg. Classy.

How had that even  _happened_  on a routine commute to work? 

Roxas forced the troubling questions about the hazier parts of his memory aside. "I just ate lunch looking like this," he pointed out instead, still feeling the need to be a tad oppositional.

Demyx took one final swig of his drink, pointedly ignoring how Roxas grimaced at the action, before rising from his seat. "Yeah, well, this'll be different. They requested your presence at Annuate Palace so you're gonna have to clean yourself up a bit."

"Who did?" Roxas asked, deciding he was better served knowing who he'd be dealing with rather than asking about where the hell a place in Manhattan was located that had the misfortune to get named something so incredibly tacky.

Demyx inclined his head toward the door. "C'mon. Let's walk and talk and get you a little more presentable while we're at it." When Roxas didn't initially make a move to follow, Demyx sighed again, rolling his eyes a little. "Axel's supposed to be there too. Do you really want to look like that the next time you see him?"

From the smug look on Demyx's face, Roxas knew his expression had betrayed him. There they were again, those warring feelings within him the moment Axel's name was mentioned. In truth, Roxas wasn't at all sure what to think about Axel after the events of the last handful of hours. He knew he was pissed off about everything that he could remember of what had transpired. Still, Roxas couldn't help but feel that anger was the most superficial of the handful of emotions that rushed through him whenever the guy's name got brought up.

Finally acquiescing, Roxas stood, the name drop an annoying but effective motivator to get going. Now it was his turn to sigh. Eyes passing over the cell phone still resting where Demyx had placed it on the table, Roxas snatched it up. When Demyx didn't make a move to stop him or offer any indication that the action bothered him, Roxas slid it back into his empty side pocket.

He moved to follow Demyx. In the presence of the other man, the door opened and they exited without issue, an orange-yellow dog, not named for the Disney character he resembled but rather a god that governed death, trailing along closely behind them, tail still enthusiastically wagging in their wake.


	10. Chapter 10

Long after he'd stepped out of the shower, the air remained misty, humid. Although Roxas had no intention of admitting it to Demyx, the simple act of cleaning himself had done wonders. It had helped make him feel like he was considerably more human again, despite his body's lingering soreness.

The bathroom itself was an oddity, equal parts high-tech and ancient in appearance and function. The room was made up of tiles, ornately decorated but worn smooth over what seemed like centuries of use, despite Demyx's assertion that it was modeled after interior design from "Twenty-Eight Century" ( _good lord_ ). Above him, the ceiling rose with the swell of archways, built with stone that complemented the color of the tiles surrounding them. In that way, it reminded Roxas of photos depicting late nineteenth century Turkish baths, giving him the distinct impression that he'd ended up someplace in Europe — or at least an area of Manhattan he'd never been aware existed before now, more realistically.

The shower was unlike anything Roxas had ever seen. It was a small space, not much bigger than what he'd had to make do with in the cramped bathroom in his own studio. There had been no faucets though, no shower head or visible means to regulate its temperature or even direct the flow of water. There'd also been no soap or other products typically associated with bathing, bottled or otherwise. As though sensing his presence, the shower had simply turned on the moment he'd entered, sprinkling him with a fine mist of fragrant foam and giving him just enough time to scrub it into his hair, to spread it over his body, before the water came on, the temperature hot but not anywhere close to scalding.

As he washed himself and considered the unfamiliar features of the shower stall, Roxas felt a measure of gratefulness to have a task even as insignificant as trying to figure out the workings of a bathroom to distract himself with. If he stopped to think about this day with even a little more scrutiny, he'd have to make an attempt at reconciling the maddeningly blank state of his mind when it came to very specific parts of the morning. No matter how much he thought about it, no matter how many times he tried to create a chronological mental list of the actions he'd taken, Roxas found he couldn't recall the events of the day with any real clarity. He remembered getting ready for work, that the rushed nature of his departure suggested he'd been a tad late. There were also snatches of imagery, of a taxicab, running into Axel, and Marluxia's iron grip on him.

Then, nothing. He couldn't summon the finer details about how he'd encountered either of the men, couldn't really even remember how they'd managed to get him here beyond knowing it had some tenuous connection to the band still encircling his wrist.

So, distractions relating to the workings of this shower. Yeah. It was either that or Roxas would end up worrying that thinking too much about anything else might induce a freak-out of epic proportions, the likes of which he'd have no hope of readily stifling.

Instead of worrying about the possibility that he was losing his mind, that this was all some elaborate mental break with reality, Roxas focused on the here and now. He allowed the shower to wash away the foam from his body and scrubbed it out of his hair before stepping out, bare feet dripping water as he moved back out into the open space of the bathroom and surveyed his surroundings with determined, almost desperate, interest.

Much like the shower, the bathroom walls, although made up of identical tiling, also hid a surprise as he entered the space and looked around wondering how he was supposed to dry off without any sign in the room of towels. As Roxas padded back out toward the bathroom sink, feeling awkward, wet, and more than a little exposed, he felt the slightest shift in the atmosphere around him, saw the air in front of him subtly distort.

He tensed, assuming he'd somehow set off the invisible enclosure again, despite no pulsing warning from the band still clamped around his wrist. The air around him swirled, the mist fading as it if was being sucked out of the space. He heard no indication that any sort of mechanism had turned on, just felt warm and gentle air breezing past him, then back again in measured intervals, effectively drying the lingering moisture from his body and hair. Perplexed, he turned back toward the shower, noted that the air was still misty just a few feet away from him. He held out a hand, expecting it to connect with another translucent barrier. Instead, his hand passed right through, fingers immediately feeling the difference between the shower area's hazy humidity and the dry heat of his current location.

Drawing his hand back toward him, Roxas rubbed two fingers against his thumb, considering the droplets of moisture they'd returned with.

At least it didn't feel like any of this was an immediate threat to his safety. He supposed he should be grateful for even these little concessions, but still. This was all so …odd.

He made his way over to the sink, noting the small pile of neatly folded clothing, apparently set on the ancient looking stone countertop at some point while he was showering. Every piece of fabric was white, and there were no shoes. Roxas found himself looking at the pile of clothes wryly, wondering at the intelligence of letting someone who'd just virtually destroyed his last set of clothing near anything so pristine. Much to Roxas' relief, both his wallet and cell phone had also been set on the counter immediately next to the folded clothes. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he felt he needed both to maintain some emotional stability throughout this ordeal.

Dressing slowly, marveling at the odd, baggy feel of fabric that didn't appear to have any stitching, no matter how closely he inspected it, Roxas sidled closer to the sink, taking in the tiled wall facing him with begrudging appreciation. The design here mimicked the curves of the archways above his head, both framing the sink and providing visual appeal that stood out from the walls in the rest of the bathroom. As he stepped closer to the sink, the wall within the arches of tile shimmered. Roxas found himself no longer looking at a blank tiled wall but, disconcertingly, at his own reflection, the image crisp, no smudges or hazy effect from the condensation still lingering just a few feet away.

He looked at the clothing he'd pulled on, aware of just how ridiculous he looked. It had to be three sizes too big for his frame. At least. Roxas smoothed the front of his shirt from his chest down to his stomach in an attempt to get the fabric to lay flat. The material seemed to react to the action, remaining where he'd pressed it and deepening in color until it was just a shade lighter than pure black. He looked down as the fabric seemed to be shrinking more to the proportions of his body, then sealing itself off into one cohesive piece. It had even expanded around his feet, cupping the arches in a firmer, more padded material. When he looked up again, surprise registered on the face reflecting from the mirror as Roxas noted the appearance of red diamonds, floating lazily, encircling the fabric around his waist and arms. He moved his left hand across his chest, brushed it experimentally over his right shoulder. His fingers passed through the floating shapes without any sort of sensation to indicate they were corporeal at all.

Weird, he thought. It was like a hologram without any sort of projection equipment. And more than a little gaudy, he couldn't help but note. Everything had just been so random since he'd ended up here that he supposed this new discovery probably shouldn't have surprised him much either.

Part of him wanted to consider the possibility that Demyx's comments about different centuries might have some basis in reality, but the thought was just so outlandish, so ridiculously fantastical, that Roxas found himself having trouble giving it any serious consideration. He looked around the bathroom, a dubious expression forming the more he took in. If this was the future, why did everything look so old? Wouldn't it all be crisp and hyper-modern, with technology being used for everything? The shower was kind of cool, Roxas supposed. Same for the separation of humid and dry air within the room, however that worked. Still, those things just didn't add up to anything that screamed pinnacle of futuristic society in his mind. They were more like cheap parlor tricks, performed to impress a credulous guest, he decided. Nothing more.

He looked down at the sink. On closer inspection, Roxas realized it might be more accurate to call it a basin. Just like with the shower, there were no faucets, and there didn't seem to be any way to manually turn on the water. Yet water was already there, filling the bottom half of the beveled receptacle. Roxas trailed a finger along the water's surface, then brought it up to his lips, curious.

As he'd already half-anticipated, it tasted salty as hell. What was  _with_  these people?

"Hey,  _amice_. How's it going? Almost done?"

Roxas whirled at the sound of Demyx's voice, wondering how the guy had managed to sneak into the bathroom without being noticed — and more than a little grateful he'd already put clothes on, even if it did feel like he was dressed like a kid about to go out trick-or-treating.

To his surprise and growing disorientation, no one was there.

Making a complete three-sixty, eyes sweeping every corner, Roxas confirmed what he'd already known - Demyx wasn't visible anywhere in the room. The voice hadn't sounded like it'd come from a speaker. If anything, Roxas had been sure Demyx was only a few feet behind him.

"Hi," Roxas said, voice tentative, "yeah, I'm done." Speaking to straight-up empty space left him feeling supremely stupid. At least he didn't have long to wait for a reply.

" _Metzuyan_ ," Demyx's incorporeal voice sounded again.  _Excellent_ , Roxas' mind effortlessly translated as Demyx continued on. "Just head out the sliding door and I'll meet you where the corridor splits off in two."

"I don't think the doors open like that for me," Roxas said. He waited a moment for Demyx's answer. When none was forthcoming, Roxas turned back to the not-mirror. Noticing a tuft of hair sticking out at an awkward angle, he tried to flatten it with a hand, not particularly enthused with the prospect of using the salty basin water as a styling aid. Managing to get it halfway settled, not convinced it'd remain that way for long, Roxas sighed, trying not to focus on how ridiculous he looked. Between this idiotic get-up, plus Zexion's and Demyx's black coats, fashion had taken a serious turn for the worse if this really was the future. This outfit, without question, was tacky as hell.

He retrieved his phone and wallet from the countertop, holding them for a moment as he contemplated what to do with them. His clothing didn't have any visible pockets. Then again, it also hadn't been a form-fitting onesie about three minutes ago. Sliding the hand holding his wallet down one side of his pants, Roxas felt around the glossy fabric, to see if there was anything he'd missed. Halfway down his thigh, his wallet caught on something, felt as though it'd snagged. He pulled his hand away, taking a closer look, wondering if he'd managed to tear part of the suit.

A small pouch had formed in the material, at the location that he'd been poking around. Roxas allowed his hand to return to his pants leg, curious to see if the newly made pocket was big enough for his wallet.

It wasn't. At least not initially. The further he slid the wallet into it though, the larger the pouch seemed to become, until it fit the square of leather, then shrunk to hold it snugly in place. On a hunch, Roxas tried the same maneuver with the cell phone on his other leg. The same process produced another pocket, this time a little larger to accommodate the thick case of his phone.

Just when he assumed things couldn't get any more bizarre, he thought, it turned out he was wearing space pajamas with features including sparkly holograms and build-your-own-pockets. Lord knew what else was in store once he managed to get out of this space and back into Demyx's exuberant clutches.

Making his way over to the exit, Roxas stopped as, a few feet away from it, the door slid open at his presence. Despite the inanimate status of the entranceway, he couldn't help but shoot it an irritated look.

Sure,  _now_  doors were opening for him. Would've been nice if they'd afforded him the same courtesy when he'd actually been trying more actively to escape.

With one final look back at the bathroom, toward the mirror that had transformed back to a standard-looking tiled wall, Roxas mentally prepared himself to face something new. Then, without a second glance, he exited, and headed out toward the unknown, following the simple directions Demyx had so recently provided.

o - o

They walked without speaking at first, Demyx humming an unfamiliar tune, Roxas lost in thought, trying to keep his disappointment in check. He'd been hoping this journey would take them outdoors, someplace he could look around and try to get his bearings, maybe even figure out where in the city he was being held. Instead, Demyx had led them downward, further into the bowels of the building. Roxas had yet to see a single window since he'd been detained. That fact alone was enough to drive his apprehension levels straight through the roof — however many floors above him that happened to be at the moment.

The humming stopped abruptly as they turned another corner, the floor now leveling out as they continued onward. "Really glad Vivi didn't mind taking Pluto back home topside for me," Demyx said, apparently unaware of how the mention of the outside world might be taken as a mocking reminder of where Roxas himself wasn't currently at liberty to go. "Non-regulation animals are kinda frowned upon in general, let alone inside public buildings."

Roxas glanced up at Demyx, forcing the first bitter reply that came to him back down his throat. "And why is that?" he asked instead, tone resigned, not so much implying disinterest as no opinion whatsoever. Part of him hoped Demyx would continue, would offer up some information as to their whereabouts that would actually prove useful. At this point though, Roxas wasn't about to hold his breath. Most everything that had come out of the man's mouth since his arrival had sounded like straight-up gibberish, or at least the ramblings of someone with only one foot in the realm of genuine reality.

"The mess mostly," Demyx replied, taking no note of Roxas' flat inflection. "I'm pretty sure Pluto's the only animal in the entire city that isn't officially sanctioned at the moment."

Stifling a sigh as Demyx continued to spout nonsense, Roxas told himself to play along. Maybe if he threw enough make-believe bones, something the guy said would start making an iota of sense.

Or he could end up feeding the fantasy further. It was hard to really say one way or the fucking other.

"What about pigeons? They make plenty of mess," Roxas said, this time trying to keep his tone light, to make it clear he was joking.

And raccoons, feral cats, the occasional stray dog, and more homeless people than a society bent on constant political correctness was generally willing to admit to…

"Hmm." Demyx pursed his lips and shook his head, shaggy hair whipping back and forth with the motion. "There aren't any birds in Time City."

Of course there weren't, Roxas thought but didn't dare say out loud. Man, the delusion was strong in this one.

A needling voice in the back of his thoughts reminded him that Demyx hadn't been the only person to reference that name in the course of a conversation since he'd arrived. Axel had brought it up too. So, he was either being held by a bunch of psychopaths with a tenuous grasp on facts and the exact same delusional version of reality, or they were all telling him the truth about his current whereabouts and it was Roxas who was in denial. At this point, Roxas couldn't say which option freaked him out the worst.

"No other animals either," Demyx continued, inclining his head at a fork in their path to indicate which direction they were meant to choose. "The dogs are a special exception. They've been bred for ages, in three primary colors. Legend says it's because the breed was a favorite of Faber John's only son."

Noting the steady incline of the floor in front of them, a physical indication they were now heading upward, Roxas felt a spike in anxiety at the realization that they must be getting closer to their destination. He said nothing beyond a quiet sound of acknowledgement.

"It's kind of a cool tradition, actually," Demyx said, apparently taking Roxas' silence as an invitation to continue rambling. "All Founding families are allowed one dog for each member, and the Sempitern can have a complete set of three. That's how I had authority to petition to save ol' Pluto." Although Roxas didn't look up this time, he could hear the smile in Demyx's voice.

"So, you founded…Time City." Roxas tried the term on for size, voice hesitant, the inclination to eye roll still exceedingly strong.

"No way," Demyx said, laughing a little, "that happened forever ago. But I am from one of the Founding families. I'm a  _Lee_ , on my mother's side." Given the emphasis he'd placed on the name, Demyx's assertion seemed to be a point of considerable pride. "Axel, too, actually," Demyx continued, tacking on the last sentence almost as an afterthought.

At the mention of the redhead, Roxas momentarily slowed. "You guys are related?" This time he wasn't able to keep the curiosity out of his tone. So much for thinking the two might've been dating.

They stopped in front of large wooden door. This time, it didn't open at their approach. Demyx placed his hands on it, fingers curling into a shallow depression along one side. "Kind of, yeah," Demyx said, shooting Roxas a silly grin. "It's a really distant connection, but we both have Lee ancestry somewhere in our family trees."

As he spoke, Demyx pulled at the door, sliding it open manually with both hands. He stepped aside, gestured with one hand, a wide, good-natured smile still lighting up his features. "After you, my  _liege_."

This time Roxas did roll his eyes, Demyx's grin increasing as he noted the expression. Apparently, Roxas thought, he'd just fallen right into the guy's humor-loving trap; he'd done just what it seemed Demyx had wanted and forgotten himself and these less than ideal circumstances. If he was going to be held captive though, he supposed there were worse things he could be forced to endure beyond a few corny jokes, a conversation about dogs, and mythology about some made-up futuristic city.

Roxas waited until Demyx was through the door before voicing his next thought. "So what you're saying is Axel has a dog named after a Greek god too."

"Nah," Demyx said, back facing Roxas as he pulled the door closed. "It's totally optional, and Axel isn't exactly an animal lover."

Shocker.

"His sister does though." As Demyx picked up the pace down another dark corridor, Roxas ended up half-sprinting in an attempt not to be left behind. "She's got a red. Name's Rhea."

"Axel has a sister…" Roxas said, chest heaving as he strove to keep up with Demyx's increased walking speed, "…named Rhea?" He'd never considered the possibility that any of these people might have families, let alone siblings.

Demyx laughed. "No, silly." As they came to an archway that opened into a much larger but still dimly lit space, he stopped. "That's the dog's name. You'll meet her in a few."

As Roxas raised an eyebrow, Demyx was quick to clarify. "You'll meet his sister." He looked beyond Roxas, out into the room they'd just entered. "She'll be at dinner. I mean, the dog might be there too. This is their house, after all."

Demyx started to walk again, this time more slowly, which gave Roxas the opportunity to take in their new location. There were still no windows, but this space was …expansive, to say the least, its ceilings rising at least thirty feet above them, columns of off-white stone that looked like marble rising as supports in a symmetrical pattern throughout the room. In between each column were several displays, encased in glass, their contents arranged in varying heights from approximately waist- to eye-level.

Although Demyx didn't stop, he was walking slowly enough for Roxas to be able to read small index cards next to each display case. It gave Roxas the very distinct sense they were traversing the main viewing floor of a museum.

The item descriptions were almost as outlandish as some of the objects on exhibit within the cases. He saw displays with commentary like 'Forty-Three Century Chinese Home Computer', 'Seventy-Three Century Mountain Boots (Mars)', 'Forty-Five Century Indian Wedding Chalice', 'Hundred-and-Five Century Gas Iron' (whatever the fuck that was), and even 'Twenty-Century Second World War Refugee Equipment (Cases Open to Show Clothing and Protective Mask)'. Everything was neatly labeled, both in handwritten Latin script and something incomprehensible to Roxas, its closest resemblance being to a very obtuse form of blocky emojis.

About halfway through the sweeping expanse of a room, Roxas found his voice again. "What is this place?"

"I already told you back at Time Patrol headquarters," Demyx said, but his tone was patient. He didn't seem particularly annoyed at the prospect of repeating himself. "This is Annuate Palace. Elio keeps a collection of various historical artifacts down here in the lower level, either brought back by Observers or gifted by visitors from Stable Eras." Three quarters of the way across the room, Demyx veered off toward the right. Too caught up in trying to process the information Demyx was rattling off at breakneck speed to even consider making a run for it, Roxas followed, trailing along a few steps behind.

"It's a pet project of his," Demyx said, leading Roxas toward another corridor, this one with a set of circular, stone stairs leading further upward. "He's been doing it for centuries now, as far as any of us know. Watch your step on these ones," he continued as he began to take the stairs two at a time, apparently not bothering to heed his own advice, "they're super old and aren't really level so they can be slippery if you don't watch where you're going."

For centuries…

What was next, Roxas wondered. Was Demyx going to start claiming they were all immortals?

He found himself stuck on those two words, not bothering to process Demyx's warning at first. He soon found himself stepping more carefully, however, after one misplaced foot had him bracing the nearby wall in order to check his balance and not completely faceplant in the middle of the stairwell. As Demyx had claimed, the steps were a challenge to use. In their worn state, there wasn't much with which his pajama-shoed feet could use to gain decent footing. The steps were worn almost glass-smooth, especially at the centers, which curved into shallow divots, as though countless people had been taking the same path for eons and wearing them completely polished in the process.

The stairs circled up, along a steep, narrow path. Roxas let Demyx's comment about centuries-old museum curators slide as he focused on staying upright. By the time they completed the final spiral and exited into another hall, Roxas was panting, calves aching from the tension of maintaining his footing on each glossy step. Demyx paused for a moment, letting Roxas catch his breath, and returned to his quiet humming.

"You'd think … the future … would have done away with stairs … in favor of elevators … at the very least," Roxas said between breaths, shaking his head in light exasperation. If Demyx could make stupid little jokes at every turn, Roxas figured, he could match him with at least one comment that pointed out the ludicrous nature of his claim of living in some city in the far-distant future.

Demyx quirked his head, brows furrowing a little. He remained quiet for a pregnant moment, a look of amusement passing over his features as his gaze traveled to Roxas, then past him off into the distance. "We might wanna have Zexy double-check your hearing after dinner," he said mildly. "I didn't say anything about this being the future."

Before Roxas could open his mouth and counter the assertion, Demyx had moved away again, this time practically skipping across the corridor before disappearing through an open archway on the other side of the hall.

For a moment, Roxas considered remaining in place, or retracing his steps down into the museum area. Still sore, he wasn't convinced he had the physical energy to survive a reverse trip down the stairs, even if he thought he might be able to find his way out of the labyrinthine, windowless corridors to get somewhere above ground anyway. With only a hint of reluctance, Roxas followed the path Demyx had just taken and made his way into the next area of this confusing-as-hell building.

He found himself in what appeared to be another passage, the one lined with doors along both sides. Demyx was about halfway down, looking on expectantly and beckoning him over. As Roxas approached, Demyx raised his hand, rapping lightly on the frame of another wood door in front of him.

There was a slight shuffling sound from within, then a soft click as the door opened, swinging inward to reveal a man no taller than Roxas himself. With dark hair, skin smooth and pale, the man took the two of them in with a look of quiet regard.

"Master Demyx," the man said, giving a small bow, "to what do I owe this pleasure?" The man's tone was polite, his words precise. In that way, he reminded Roxas a little of Zexion. Roxas also noted that he was dressed in the same shade of black as his own attire. Unlike his clothes, however, the man's had a much more formal appearance. With pressed lapels and long, flowing coattails that seemed to float in much the same way as the red diamonds on Roxas' own clothing, it looked almost as though he was wearing a suit.

"Hey, Elio," Demyx said, voice still upbeat, tone as informal as ever. "We got notice from Chronologue that the guardian's presence was requested at dinner tonight." He inclined his head toward Roxas who had frozen in place at the term Demyx had used to describe him.

 _Pax, custos_. The words echoed in the recesses of his mind. _Peace, keeper._

_Custos… Guardian._

Elio turned his eyes on him, and Roxas blinked, dropping his own gaze a few inches downward, uncomfortable with the realization that he couldn't interpret the placid look that had just been directed his way.

"Of course. It would be an honor," Elio replied, eyes still on Roxas. "And what shall I call him? I imagine he doesn't go by his title alone."

"Sor— uh, he calls himself Roxas," Demyx said, catching himself as Roxas suppressed an outright flinch, the muscles in his shoulders twitching a little at the effort it took remain still.

"Master Roxas, then," Elio said, with a note of finality. "Welcome to Annuate Palace. It is my honor to serve you." Again, he bowed.

Demyx chuckled a little, drawing Roxas' attention over to him. "Don't worry about Elio,  _amice_. You're in good hands. He does this intro with everyone though, so don't go thinkin' you're special now." He winked good-naturedly at Roxas. A quick glance Elio's way showed the same serene expression on the man's face, no indication of what he thought about Demyx's comment. No reaction to it at all, actually.

"Will you be staying for the evening meal as well, Master Demyx?"

"Oh, you couldn't pay me, not even in bonus units or butter-pies," Demyx was quick to respond, his silly grin returning. "These formal engagements just really aren't my thing, no offense."

"None taken," Elio replied, tone still level. Roxas was beginning to wonder if Elio ever got annoyed, given how unflappable he seemed, even in Demyx's more times than not aggravation-inducing presence.

"Anyway," Demyx continued, "I was instructed to bring him over but was hoping you could take him from here up to the dining hall. You know, introduce him and all that ceremonial stuff."

Elio nodded. "Yes, that will be simple enough. I was just about to head up to begin preparations myself."

"Perfect!" Bringing his hands together in one definitive clap, Demyx took a step back. "Well, I'm gonna head out then and get some dinner myself." He patted Roxas on the back with affection, offering an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. They've got great food here. You'll like it."

Because food was totally what he was worrying about right now…

Before Roxas could so much as come up with some sort of protest at being left with yet another stranger — and a creepy drone-like one, at that — Demyx was bounding down the hall, disappearing the way he'd come, leaving Roxas alone to fend for himself with this Elio guy.

This day just kept getting better and better.

Unaware of Roxas' thoughts, the man stepped forward, shutting his door quietly behind him. "Come along, young master," he said, his words formal, tone courteous, as he began walking in the direction Roxas had yet to pass through with Demyx. "I will escort you to the dining hall, as well as make certain you are properly announced."

Although Roxas wanted to argue, despite wanting an explanation for every nonsensical aspect of this entire confusing day, he saw no possible alternative but to comply with the request and hope that they were heading somewhere he could finally get some answers. He was less concerned about his physical safety now, sure, but everything else was still up in the air, and the constant references to various time periods that hadn't even happened yet were getting more and more unsettling. Looking down at his current clothes, eyeing the floating diamonds with outright dislike, he sighed, an action that spoke of fatigue as well as lingering frustration. Nevertheless, he started walking again. For the time being, Roxas acquiesced and moved to follow Elio.


	11. Chapter 11

After enduring hours of the seemingly limitless nature of Demyx's exuberant energy, there wasn't anyone Roxas felt might be more his polar opposite than Elio. The man's demeanor was formal, subdued. And he only seemed to speak when formally acknowledged or first spoken to.

As the man led Roxas further upward, the true size of the building they were in began to fully settle for Roxas. Yeah, he'd gathered as much already from the museum level, but, beyond that, the place just kept  _going_. They ascended four more flights of stairs before Roxas even saw his first window. Mercifully, none of them had been as steep as the first stairwell. Every rug lining each passageway and covering multiple stone stairways had an ugly, valuable look to it. They were also old, their intricate designs worn away, in places even frayed. The entire building had a lived-in richness to it. It felt like what Roxas envisioned of an English manor, kind of even reminded him of a particular television show Olette was constantly obsessing about.

That's right. With its antique feel and the man leading the way starkly reminiscent of an old-school butler, the behemoth of a building Axel apparently called home was giving Roxas the distinct impression that he'd been dropped straight onto the set of Downton Abbey.

As Elio had led the way up more flights of stairs than Roxas' sore muscles would likely care to remember in a few short hours, he found himself craving a reprieve from the silence, made eerier by the sights they passed that just didn't jibe with the old-world feel of the home as a whole. The chairs, for one, were lined with weathered wood that seemed standard for furniture here, except that their interiors held nothing — no cushions, not even plastic or more wood. The seats and chair backs were simply empty, just like the frame of the bed he'd been resting in earlier.

Unnerved, Roxas cleared his throat, trying to ease his discomfort more than actually trying to catch Elio's attention. Just the same, the man slowed, glancing over, just as calm as he'd been at their initial introduction. Seeing it as an opportunity, Roxas looked up, met the man's eyes, then launched into a question that'd been on his mind ever since Demyx had first mentioned the upcoming meet-and-greet.

"Who's going to be at this dinner?" Hopefully that at least would be alright to ask. Unless, much like Demyx, the guy didn't have appropriate 'clearance' to clue him in.

Maintaining a slow but consistent pace, Elio turned his head back in the direction they were walking. "The Sempitern is expected to be present. He shares this residence with the Walker children. You may be more familiar with their maternal lineage. She was a Lee."

Although Roxas didn't know what the hell the second word even meant, his mind oh-so-conveniently deciding this was the moment it wasn't going to automatically translate, and he still had no clue about the significance of what seemed to him a commonplace surname, he kept silent, waiting for Elio to continue.

"There are often guests beyond Annuate's residents. Masters Saïx, Luxord, and Marluxia have all been invited this evening, to my knowledge. There also very well may be others."

"Marluxia…" Roxas echoed. He'd been hoping for more of an explanation as to who these people were. Instead, Elio was dropping names and terms that meant virtually nothing to him. At least there was one familiar name in the mix, he supposed. Given who it was and the apprehensive feeling that followed its utterance, however, it wasn't a particularly comforting revelation.

Roxas lapsed into silence, following Elio down yet another passage. This one had large windows, the glass stained with abstract designs and colors that reflected onto the sparkling marble of the walls around them. They passed other people as they walked, Elio politely greeting each and every member of what looked to be a sizable household staff. Each person was dressed similarly to Elio, exuding various levels of the same calm demeanor. Although this was anything but a typical day for Roxas, that didn't seem to be the case for any of them.

"Forgive me my curiosity, young master." Elio's unanticipated words interrupted Roxas' thoughts. "I'm afraid I know very little about the finer details surrounding your arrival. What era are you from, if you don't mind the inquiry?"

What, no one had bothered to clue this guy in on the whole assault and battery and kidnapping bits? Finer details, in-fucking-deed, Roxas was tempted to blurt out.

"I, um…" Roxas found himself hesitating, not wanting to play a part in any more of this puerile bullshit than he had to.

Elio was so calm though, such a stark contrast to Demyx's seemingly boundless, nutball energy. He didn't exactly seem like someone who wasted his time with anything even remotely bordering on make-believe.

"Twenty-One Cen—er, the twenty-first century," Roxas said, quickly correcting himself. Had he really almost used that crazy-ass terminology that Demyx and Axel had been so flippantly throwing around? Christ. Maybe he was starting to develop Stockholm Syndrome. God, that'd be awful. Knowing his luck lately, it also wasn't entirely outside of the realm of possibility.

When Elio didn't immediately reply, Roxas found himself supplementing, unable to bear the thought of once again becoming a silent follower approaching the complete unknown. "I mean, I was technically born in the twentieth, back in nineteen ninety-three, so I think I probably qualify as a Millennial, but I'm not totally…sure."

Oh good lord, he was rambling. First Axel, now with this Elio guy. He really didn't know when to shut the fuck up.

Unperturbed, Elio offered a nod of acknowledgement, his expression turning thoughtful as he continued walking, this time down a large stairwell that opened up into a foyer's entryway. "I know that time period quite well," he said. "In fact, Annuate Palace once played host to a remarkable young girl from Twenty Century who changed the course of this city's penultimate Platonic history."

Roxas faltered, nearly losing his footing on the carpeted steps. At least this staircase had a railing to grab onto. He hadn't been anticipating Elio's willingness to divulge information, even if he didn't understand everything that had been said or whether any of it was significant to his own predicament. For the first time, Roxas was actually finding himself getting somewhere with one of these people.

"It did?" he ventured, trying to keep his tone interested but otherwise not too overtly invested in receiving an answer.

"Oh yes. It was an honor to serve her," Elio replied, voice smooth, words recognizably repetitive. His expression, though still quite tranquil, held just the slightest hint of cheerfulness, like he was recalling a fond memory. "Although initially the circumstances surrounding her presence seemed nothing more than a grievous error of mistaken identity. The Lee family have a history of acting first, and worrying about consequences as more of an afterthought. It could very well be genetic."

If they hadn't been halfway down the stairs, Roxas might have stopped cold at Elio's words. Mistaken identity? That sounded …really familiar. He tried to imagine Axel abducting a girl in the same manner that had brought him here, but the holes in his memory left Roxas grappling, incapable of piecing together how that might even work. Was Elio really implying others had been kidnapped? Did that mean he wasn't the only prisoner here?

Elio continued downward, oblivious to Roxas' quickly lengthening list of questions. "I must admit I imagined someone older than you. The last guardians certainly were." He led Roxas along the patterned marbled floor from where the space stopped being a foyer and turned into an actual room full of carved empty frames that were probably more weird-ass chairs. As much as Roxas wanted to ask questions, he was more worried about breaking Elio out of the spell talking about guardians and kidnapped girls seemed to put him in. The last thing Roxas wanted was the guy going silent after deciding he'd said too much.

Glancing at Roxas once more, Elio offered a half-smile. "Forgive my ignorant assumptions. I am afraid I sometimes become prone to unnecessary exposition. I make no claim to understand Faber John's methods of keeping his polarities safe. The process must be unfathomably complex."

The man stopped midway through the room. He was giving Roxas a look that seemed to imply he was anticipating a response. Before Roxas could think of anything to say though, someone beat him to the punch.

"Elio! Oh, thank goodness. You're here."

As Elio turned, Roxas found himself cowering almost by default, hanging back just behind the man, not sure what to expect from yet another newcomer.

Elio bowed once again, and Roxas got his first look at the person approaching them. It was a woman in dark clothes, arms bare save for black gloves up to her elbows, her dark hair and skirt both fluttering behind her as she made her way over to them. A large dog lumbered behind her, its coat an unnaturally vivid shade of scarlet.

"Great Time," she huffed, eyes raised in apparent exasperation, "is Leon ever being a pain today. There's been a crisis in Agelong, so he's in a sour mood over it. Someone went and sent out the New Australian Grammar to Malaya nearly a century before it was invented." As she spoke, the dog trotted past her, skirting around Elio and making a beeline for Roxas. "And he's been all day sorting it ou—oh. Hello." She stopped speaking mid-sentence, eyes first on the dog, which then led her gaze to Roxas. Her voice turned subtly up at the last syllable of the greeting, eyes traveling between him and Elio with an unspoken question. They flickered in the natural light coming in from the room's windows, as though there was some sort of distortion in front of them. It was the same odd feature he'd noticed with Axel, Roxas realized, except his eyes were obviously green. This woman's, on the other hand, were darker, but definitely… red.

At this point, Roxas just accepted the observation, resigned to the fact that nothing in this place was going to be one hundred percent normal to him. By now, it was becoming commonplace to feel more suspicious about the familiar, rather than things he considered completely oddball. It was a mental safeguard, he acknowledged, perhaps to keep himself from doing the human equivalent of mental dominos in front of total strangers.

Elio straightened, expression respectful. "I can see to Sempitern Leonhart, my lady. I had planned to escort the guardian to the dining hall beforehand. If it is an emergency, however…"

The woman didn't respond at first. She looked past Elio, toward Roxas, brows furrowing. "He's arrived already? I didn't even realize Axel had returned."

Roxas straightened his posture at the mention of Axel's name but remained silent, unsure of how to respond. By his side, the dog reared back, balancing on its hind legs as it pressed its front paws into Roxas' thighs.

"Rhea, sit." Although the woman's tone was stern, her open, curious expression remained. Roxas also realized that the command word she'd just used was not the same that Demyx had uttered earlier, despite the meaning being identical. Obediently, the dog fell back onto its haunches without so much as a protesting whine.

"It was Master Demyx who brought him to us." Elio answered, making no comment about the dog as he inclined his head toward the boy by his side. "He calls himself Roxas."

Quirking her head, the woman smoothed one of her gloves, an idle movement that complemented her worried look and slightly frazzled demeanor. "I didn't realize they had names. Or ages," she continued, looking past Elio back toward Roxas. "Isn't he a little …young?"

Biting his lip, Roxas looked down. It felt like they were speaking about him like he wasn't present — or even a human, for that matter.

Apparently picking up on her verbal misstep, the woman cleared her throat and had the good sense to sound contrite. "Oh my. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend." Roxas looked up. He saw an apologetic expression pass over her face, complementing the sincerity of the words she'd just murmured. Still, he remained silent. Unsure.

"Welcome to the Annuate, Roxas. I'm Tifa Lee Walker. We're so glad to have you."

Lee. There was that name again, Roxas thought as he quickly put together the pieces. Demyx was related to Axel who had a sister with a dog named…right, okay. Roxas thought he got it.

The woman took a step forward, hand outstretched, smile seemingly genuine. When Roxas didn't make an immediate move to return the gesture, Tifa's expression faltered. She looked over to Elio, uncertain. "Handshakes are still a customary greeting in Twenty-One Century, correct? I'm afraid it's not really my period of expertise."

Elio nodded. "They are, indeed." He glanced at Roxas, who was torn between feeling satisfied that he had held his ground and like an utter dick for not just reciprocating. "I suspect it has simply been a long day for Master Roxas. As I understand it, he only just arrived."

"Of course." The words carried an empathetic undertone, Tifa's expression turning thoughtful once more. "I forget how tiring that sort of journey can be…it's been so long since I've left the city." She nodded to herself, an action of self-assurance, then clasped her hands together in front of her as if she'd just settled on something definitive. "I can take you the rest of the way to the dining hall," she told Roxas. "A few of the others have already arrived."

She looked to Elio as the man inclined his head. "And I will see to the Sempitern and ensure he makes it to dinner." Much like Demyx, Elio was gone before Roxas could think to protest. Quite suddenly, he'd been passed off to yet another person, and for the first time today, it was a woman.

"Come," Tifa said, and Roxas couldn't be sure whether she was talking to him or her dog. He also couldn't be sure if it really mattered at all, because both he and Rhea automatically began to follow.

Roxas had prepared himself for another long journey. In reality, they passed through only one additional room before reaching their destination. The dining room was a round, vaulted room that reminded Roxas of a metro station — if any of Manhattan's underground stops had ever been shined to resplendent perfection. Three people were already present in the room, their black-coated backs facing the entrance as they all stood around a flickering fire in a stone fireplace at the far end of the room, an odd choice considering the indian summer pretty much all of city proper was still suffering through. In between the newcomers and the other guests lay a considerably large table, completely white like marble, with subtle off-white patterns mimicking the lines of a tablecloth. Just like he'd seen in other rooms on his way here, Roxas noted a handful of carved and polished empty-frame chairs and eight place settings.

The guests turned as they entered, and Roxas recognized pink-haired Marluxia immediately. The other two were unfamiliar, although their coats were identical to what Demyx had been traipsing around in earlier. Three pairs of eyes all turned toward Roxas, who once again felt discomfort not only in the realization that he was being scrutinized by strangers but also as a result of his own unconventional attire.

Not that their clothing wasn't bizarre. He just felt his was weirder. But at least one of them had him beat when it came to crazy-ass hair. As Roxas' gaze passed by a blue-haired man with a vicious looking scar criss-crossing the bridge of his nose and a yellowish glint to his eyes, he realized it wasn't exclusively Marluxia who that observation applied to. At least the other guy, with his white-blond hair and neatly-trimmed beard, looked closer to Roxas' version of what he considered normal.

"I just ran into Elio on my way here," Tifa said, "and it appears Axel was successful in locating one of the guardians." Stepping to the side, around a quietly panting Rhea and then slightly behind Roxas to give the men a better view, Tifa laid a gentle, gloved hand on one of his shoulders. "This," she said, "is Roxas."

Marluxia took a step forward. He acknowledged Tifa with a slight nod before turning his attention on Roxas. "A pleasure, although we've technically already met." He shot Roxas a wry smile that wasn't altogether different than some of the looks Axel had offered him over the past few days.

Pointing first to the blond man, then the one with more distinguishing features, Marluxia finished the introductions. "And these are my colleagues, Luxord and Saïx."

Saying nothing, Roxas simply looked between the two men he'd just been introduced to, before Marluxia continued speaking, drawing his attention back to his own angular features and pink, feathered hair.

"How are you feeling?"

Roxas stared at him for a long moment. Despite his presence earlier, Marluxia had never addressed him before, let alone with such a deluge of words. The question had been posed neutrally, without any inflection or indication that the man was actually concerned. Eyes darting between the black-clad duo next to him, then over to Tifa before returning to the original speaker, Roxas swallowed and felt the tension in the muscles of his throat. "I'm fine," he said. Then, unable to help himself, he added, "under the circumstances."

Maybe sensing the potential for awkwardness in their current situation, Tifa swept her arm toward the table. "Leon shouldn't be too long in arriving. Why don't we sit?"

The three men complied without a word, taking their places at the opposite side of the table from Tifa and Roxas. Noticing Roxas' wary scrutiny of the empty-frame chair he'd pulled out to sit in, she shot him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. They're quite stable."

And so they were, although Roxas couldn't help but feel odd sitting on what felt like a thick sheet of glass that looked like absolutely nothing. This was mid-century modern taken to the extreme and, if he were being completely honest, it was about as chic as a faux fox fur coat from a flea market in Jamaica-Queens.

As Rhea settled on the floor at his feet beneath the table, side doors Roxas hadn't noticed before opened, and servers appeared, arms full of sparkling crystal tumblers filled with water and wine. Unconsciously, Roxas' stomach roiled at the remembrance of the brine he'd unwittingly ingested a few hours earlier. If the water was that terrible, he didn't hold out much hope that the wine would be much better.

The main entrance doors opened inward, revealing a briskly walking Elio, a cylindrical container secured under one arm. He made his way over toward Roxas' end of the table, before placing the receptacle within an arm's reach.

"I took the liberty of diluting this water to Twenty-One Century standards. If you have any dietary restrictions, please do let me know."

Roxas noted eyes on him from across the table. Everyone seemed keenly interested in his reactions, making his every movement feel as though it were under the scrutiny of a high-powered microscope. He glanced at Elio, but then shook his head minutely. "Thanks. I don't." He reached for the offered container and poured himself some of the water, noting that the moment he'd made his own move, the others at the table came to life, reaching for tumblers to pour drinks for themselves.

"Would you like some wine?" Tifa asked, her smile bright albeit a little forced in Roxas' view. The woman seemed hellbent on cutting the tension in the room but her cheery demeanor was only shining a spotlight on how awkward this entire thing was for everyone involved. He shook his head. The last thing he needed was to let down his guard in front of these people who, with their matching black coats and serious expressions, were increasingly giving off the impression that they were all members of a creepy-as-hell cult.

Failing to get Roxas to speak, Tifa's gaze traveled the room, the flickering in front of her eyes intensifying as she focused on Marluxia. "Is my brother planning to grace us with his inimitable presence tonight or has he decided to skip out?"

The man glanced between his two companions, receiving a slight nod from Saïx, before responding. "I expect he'll be here shortly. Xemnas wanted to have a word upon his return."

"Uh oh," Tifa murmured, gaze shifting to Roxas for a brief moment. As she spoke, she slid the gloves off her hands, placing them carefully on her lap before smoothing them flat. "That bad? What'd he do this time?"

Eyes down but listening closely, Roxas couldn't help but feel disappointed when any answer Marluxia might have offered was cut off before it even got started by the sound of the main doors opening once again, this time announcing the presence of two men, their outer layers of their clothing billowing behind them as they entered.

Roxas stared, wide-eyed, taking in the intricate details of one man's red and gold-accented cloak, and the fur-lined collar and bare-armed look of the other. The latter sported a facial scar that halved his face diagonally from above his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose and stopping off at a jagged point nearly at his right cheekbone. Elio trailed along behind him as he moved across the table toward Marluxia. The newcomer in the red cloak took a seat to Tifa's right, his scrutinizing gaze passing over Roxas without comment. At this point, Roxas was finding it difficult to keep the near-constant stream of mental Game of Thrones comparisons at bay. The new arrival across from him looked positively agonized, like the simple act of existing at all was an exercise on par with reciting Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" word by painfully anti-socialist word.

The man took a seat across the table from Roxas, then turned to Marluxia without bothering to greet anyone. "Have you filed your latest report with Chronologue yet?"

Nodding, Marluxia reached for his glass of wine. "I have, although I'm afraid there isn't much noteworthy in it." He turned toward the other two men on his side of the table. "We will be going over it more thoroughly tonight to determine any causal reasons for the uptime lag."

Beside Roxas, Tifa thrummed her fingers lightly against the tabletop and shot the newcomer across from her a pointed look.

Ignoring her, the man kept his attention on the men on his side of the table but didn't seem satisfied with the response, his jaw tightening perceptibly as his gaze traveled down the table. "Luxord? You're supposed to be the expert on temporal shifts, are you not?"

" _Leon_." Tifa cleared her throat before the blond man could answer, inciting an already-existing glare to redirect itself across the table. His eyes met Roxas' and time seemed to freeze as the pair took one another in, Roxas finding himself first gawking at the man's fur-lined collar, then rising up to the raised, pink skin of his facial scar.

"Roxas, this is Squall Leonhart, Sempitern of Time City. That's like a president from your time. Or maybe more like a mayor. I'm not exactly sure. Most of us just call him Leon." Tifa turned slightly toward the other man who had taken a seat to her right. "And this is Sir Auron. He's a guardian in his own right."

As she spoke, servers appeared, setting down food and small dishes in front of each diner.

"Welcome," Sir Auron said, leaning forward slightly so Roxas could see him better.

"I assumed you'd be taller," the Sempitern followed up with, voice deadpan, making it impossible for Roxas to know whether he was making a joke or offering up criticism. "Anyway," Leon said, tone impatient as he reached for a piece of food before turning back toward to the men on his side of the table, clearly uninterested in following up the introduction with further questions. "You were saying, Luxord?"

"There are a number of possibilities why a lag could occur," the man replied, voice smooth as though they hadn't just gotten interrupted. "We simply need to narrow it down to the most likely cause. It's just interesting that the era is so close to going critical via a lag rather than a more backtime process. At this rate, Higgs-Boson won't be discovered for another decade, and it'll ripple from there, hopefully weakening until it peters out entirely a few centuries later, if we're lucky." The man took a sip of his water. "At any rate, Marluxia's report was more than detailed. I'm sure we'll be able to pinpoint the problem and rectify it."

Roxas listened without really understanding most of what was being said. Still, he was transfixed, trying to parse underlying meanings, to make sense of virtually anything. He also eyed the food in front of him. Everything was bite-sized but unrecognizable. All around him, the others reached for food, dipping it in the small dishes containing multi-colored sauces laid out in front of them before popping the food into their mouths. Unlike Pluto at lunch, Rhea remained silent beneath the table, not whining for food the moment it was made available.

So, Roxas thought. They were in a palace, being served by numerous members of a large household staff, all dressed like a nineteenth century fiction writer's opiate-induced vision of futuristic royalty, and their dinner amounted to nothing more sophisticated than finger foods and glasses of salty water? That seemed legit.

By his side, Tifa had been speaking in soft tones with the man who'd taken a seat next to her, Roxas only vaguely noting the absence of weight at his feet a moment after Rhea abandoned him in favor of inching closer toward Auron on all fours.

A gentle nudge to his shoulder brought him back to the people beside him. Roxas looked at Tifa, words like sociotemporal curves, paradigms of agon types, and cultural manipulation of ideology passing in one ear and out the other, ticker tape-style and utterly meaningless, gleaned from the conversation across the table.

"Don't worry about them," Tifa said before finishing off a small piece of food she'd just dipped in green sauce. "They never know when to leave work at their desks and just enjoy food and company."

Huh, Roxas thought. That sounded like his father. Glancing up at the people eating all around him, then back down at the random selection on his plate, he finally picked one up with a slight shrug and gave it a try. Its taste was not completely unlike fried chicken. Roxas had eaten better. Thinking of Olette's failed attempts at cooking, he also silently admitted to having eaten much worse. Next piece, maybe he'd try the dipping sauce.

Leon stopped mid-sentence and fixed Tifa with a severe glare. "I'm sorry our concerns over keeping the whole of history somewhat stable are boring you. As a Lee, I'd have thought you'd take more interest, personally."

Tifa merely rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it, Leon. You know I care. The Organization will work with Time Patrol and Chronologue to keep things under control like they always do."

Leon turned his attention to Roxas without responding to her. "And you," he continued, "I'm surprised you don't have any input. Are any of these fantastical claims about Faber John and his polarities even true, for one?" He fixed Roxas with a look that implied he was preemptively doubtful.

Roxas froze with a dumpling he'd just dipped into a thick yellow sauce halfway between the plate and his mouth. A drop of sauce trickled down to the edge of the morsel and held on for the briefest of moments, before dripping directly onto the table. It left a speckled stain on the white surface, which Roxas glanced at with a guilty expression. To his surprise, the surface of the table seemed to absorb the stain, the off-white patterns swirling a little as the sauce quickly faded; it continued to shrink until it wasn't visible at all. If Leon hadn't just put him on the spot, Roxas might have even taken the time to realize he was seriously impressed by the trick.

"The guardian seems to have had his memory compromised," Marluxia cut in before Roxas could be left to grapple for an answer to a question he hadn't even fully understood. "It's another issue we'll be addressing shortly."

Personally, Roxas would have just been grateful if he was able to regain a firmer grasp on the events of this morning; he wasn't really holding out any hope that they'd have luck digging up memories of the person they were mistakenly believing to be him. Without comment, Roxas reached for another piece of finger food, content to listen to others chat without being a more active participant himself.

Leon's expression darkened and it looked as though he were about to say something in response. The entranceway doors opened again though, effectively cutting him off. Elio had just enough time to move to one side before flame-red hair passed him and Axel entered the room, hands in the pockets of another black trench coat, his eyes narrowed to slits a visual harmonization of mood matching the thin line of both furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips.

Startled by the presence of the new arrival as much as his identity, Roxas found himself fumbling the food he'd just retrieved. It landed with a muted sound at the edge of his plate.

What was it with his inability to hold onto food in this guy's presence? Or his tongue, for that matter? It had to be a new, embarrassing low, especially if your onetime crush happened to also end up turning into your eventual abductor.

Leon took a sip of his wine, eyes following Axel's path across the room. "Nice of you to join us. Maybe now we can get some answers."

Axel said nothing, just slid into the seat next to Roxas, one shoulder brushing against his arm in a way that made Roxas scoot closer to Tifa, face involuntarily heating up at their proximity to one another. Axel glanced at him, expression neutral, but didn't comment as he allowed himself to be served food and reached for a tumbler of water.

"So, then. The start of Twenty-One Century." Roxas followed Axel's line of sight over to Leon as green eyes rose at the sound of the sharp tone. "What's to report? What year has this lag managed to get to?"

Axel seemed to consider his answer, his gaze moving momentarily one person over to Marluxia as if looking for confirmation. "2012, although Marluxia could have already told you the same thing," he said finally, the slightest hint of a grimace souring his otherwise dispassionate expression.

As Leon's eyes widened, Roxas bit his tongue to keep from asking something stupid.

"And now that the  _disturbance_  has been removed," Marluxia spoke up, eyes traveling meaningfully to Roxas, "I expect 2012 is where it will remain until it naturally realigns itself. Fixed events always circle back to their inception, absent additional interferences."

"I certainly hope so." Leon's voice was gruff. "It seems as though history's almost collapsed in around itself at this point."

By his side, Axel reached for a piece of food, apparently unbothered by the fatalist implication of the assertion.

Roxas turned to Tifa, hoping the one person who had thus far been friendly to him might be able to answer the myriad questions circling the drain of the fast-clogging sink that currently constituted the majority of his headspace. "Can I ask a question?"

Axel sucked in a quiet breath, eyes rising skyward. "I personally wouldn—"

"Of course," Tifa said, effectively cutting off her brother mid-sentence and receiving a glowering look in return over Roxas' head, which she seemed content to ignore. "I'm afraid I'm not the person who'd have the answers though." She spoke quietly, but Roxas was quick to notice that the table had gone silent, as Auron and all four individuals across from him turned their attention his way.

...which was exactly what he hadn't wanted happening.

When Roxas didn't immediately speak, Marluxia offered his own form of encouragement. "Ask anything. I can't guarantee we'll have an answer, but we can certainly try to clear some things up for you."

Next to him, Luxord nodded. "It's also possible that a fresh mind from an Unstable Era will be useful in sorting some of these discrepancies out."

Roxas seriously doubted that.

"I was just wondering," he started, acutely aware of how quiet his voice sounded in this colossus of a room, "why everyone seems so caught up on that year specifically."

Marluxia leaned forward, appeared prepared to respond. "Easy," Axel replied before he could get a word out, his voice smoothly taking reign of the conversation and sending a subtle shiver up Roxas' spine. "The original timeline dictates a set of events taking place much earlier, in 2001." Sliding one of Roxas' saucers closer to him, Axel dipped a long thin strip of food that reminded Roxas of vegetable tempura into brown sauce.

Marluxia nodded. "Hence the mention of an uptime lag."

Before Roxas had time to do more than mull the date discrepancy and try to make sense of what events they were even referencing, another voice joined the fray.

"Both neighboring centuries are notoriously unstable. What's to say this isn't just one deviation away from the standard norm?" Auron's voice carried a deep timbre, despite the quiet tone he had spoken with. Beneath the table Roxas heard a quiet, rhythmic thumping, a telltale sign that Rhea's tale had started wagging in response to his voice.

"Because it's already affecting the beginning of the Stable Era ahead of it."

All eyes turned toward the sound of Saïx's voice, his tone grating like bare skin scraped over uneven asphalt. Even Axel's jaw stopped working over the food he'd been chewing. Throughout this entire conversation, Roxas had noted how little Saïx's expression had changed; it didn't so much as waver now either, and his words were spoken in a near monotone.

By his side, Axel finished chewing, then swallowed audibly. "Since fucking  _when_?" Roxas heard Tifa make a quiet, disapproving noise, maybe due to his swearing, but she didn't otherwise speak.

Saïx directed his attention toward Axel, expression still flat. "Lexaeus' report came in immediately prior to dinner."

Scoffing, Axel reached for his glass of water. "Impossible. Marluxia and I got back hours ago."

"Might I remind you, Axel, that Zexion's claim as to this boy's involvement was only conjecture." At Saïx's words, Roxas froze and found himself holding his breath, aware that the others were turning his way once again. He could specifically feel Axel's eyes boring into him. "And," Saïx continued, forcing Axel's gaze back across the table, "Marluxia has already informed me of his presence at the Manhattan Towers. If the claim is viable, removing a polarity from its assigned century is an effective way to turn the entire era critical."

As Axel shifted in his chair, Roxas felt his body go cold at the reference to the towers, although he couldn't immediately place why. The word felt like it was chipping away at a concrete wall in his soul though, gaining headway with each passing moment. "Well, that's awkward," Axel said, "considering he didn't bring anything with him that could've possibly been one of those things…unless it was disguised as a wallet or smartphone."

Axel's voice floated to him as though he were speaking through a tunnel, Roxas vaguely noting the sarcasm but otherwise not reacting to the referenced items he still had in his possession. If Saïx or anyone else responded, Roxas didn't hear it. His gaze dropped to the small dishes of dipping sauce, homing in on the spicy red one in front of him without really processing what he was seeing. He was too focused on trying to work through why those specific words were causing him to feel that familiar, unwanted twinge of nausea deep in the pit of his stomach.

_Towers. Manhattan. The sky lighting up orange, preceded by a blinding ball of fire._

His eyes darted toward one of the glittering tumblers filled with salty water. Roxas imagined he was seeing crystalline rain, falling over and over again within its confines. He was momentarily transfixed by the illusion of flickering firelight reflecting fractal shards off the tumbler's exterior, and wondered why the image made him want to curl into himself until he disappeared entirely.

"Perhaps I should have interceded earlier." Marluxia's voice just barely registered with Roxas through the heavy silt of his muddled thoughts. "Or, at least, I might have stayed with him until the time band was fully activated."

"Nonsense," Leon's voice responded. "It's not an Observer's job to get himself killed."

Killed.

_Hayner._

The room went eery silent after Leon's assertion, Roxas noting the tension that seemed the fill the room where conversation had been prior without much vested interest. Words were easier for him to block out, as long as Axel wasn't the one speaking. This fresh silence felt stifling though, the absence of sound reminding him that in the hazy recesses of his memory his injured ear had been the catalyst for unwanted silence earlier this morning instead of the external stimulus inducing it now. Unconsciously, Roxas moved his hand up to the left side of his head and felt mild bewilderment when it didn't return to its place on the table moments later sporting a thin trail of blood.

He could've almost sworn…

_Pence._

Before anyone could resume speaking, the dining hall's doors opened yet again. Elio entered on his own this time, Roxas realizing he hadn't even noticed that the man had left after Axel's arrival.

"Please excuse the interruption, Sempitern," he said, offering a small bow. "The Annuate has a visitor asking for you by name."

"And who would that be?" Brows rising marginally, the jagged scar ascending along with them in quick succession, Leon's voice seemed to break the tension that had held the room in a steely grip just seconds earlier. Roxas noted Axel's shoulders relaxing back into a more natural position. A moment later, the man was reaching for his glass again, expression restored to impassive.

Elio straightened. "Cloud Strife, sir. An odd name, in my view, but that's what he called himself."

Leon's face transformed, his agonized expression dissolving into something that looked more akin to incredulity. A moment later, his jaw tightened again as though remembering itself. He shot a glance toward Roxas, who had the sense to feel unsettled before realizing it was Tifa he was actually looking at. Before Roxas could try to interpret any meaning behind the expression, Leon pushed back his chair and stood, scanning the table.

"Let's continue this discussion tomorrow." He turned toward Saïx. "Unless it's inadvisable to wait that long."

Saïx inclined his head. "There's no harm in it, at this stage."

Thoughts circling back inward, Roxas felt like he was slowly breaking from the inside out.

_Olette._

"Good. If you'll excuse me, then…" With a set expression, Leon began making strides toward the door, sparing a final glance over his shoulder before disappearing out the entryway.

"Is everything alright,  _custos_?"

As if he was listening from a considerable distance, Roxas noted the inquiry was one that had probably been directed at him. Tifa's voice echoed in his head, her words becoming increasingly meaningless with each subsequent iteration. Chest aching, face numb, limbs prickling with uncomfortable energy, he didn't so much as blink.

They'd been there that morning, at the 107th floor kiosk, and he'd been late. He remembered that much now, although the details of what transpired immediately after still range hollow, felt surreal, as if they'd happened to someone else.

Dead? They couldn't be. There was too much life in each of them. Dead meant he'd never see them again. Not ever.

_For a moment, Axel simply regarded him, an unreadable expression passing over his face. When he finally responded, his voice was quiet, reflective._

"Roxas?" Tifa's voice held a noticeable edge of concern.

_"Ever? But that's such a remarkably long span of time…"_

The words Axel had uttered only one night prior mocked him, made him want to...

" _Roxas_."

He blinked at the sound, an acknowledgement of a voice that had the ability to make him feel simultaneously fearful and inspired. It was followed by an involuntary shudder, a reaction that traveled the length of his spine, that filled him with sensation from the bottom up, a tumbler of wine poured into a glass, staining the interior a stark crimson red.

Roxas turned, regarded Axel, body alight, mind still slower to cede the blissful numb it'd gotten accustomed to over the course of the day. The man returned his eye contact, the flicker in front of his face subtly ebbing the longer they took one another in as though somehow acclimating to the sight of him.

Neither said anything for a long moment, the guests around them melting away into nothing more than indistinct colors at Roxas' peripherals. They didn't exist; their problems didn't matter, were as unreal as the plight of the starving third world to someone with a high-rise view of the Manhattan skyline in light of the recollections from morning.

He wanted to cry, maybe scream. In some way, Roxas wanted to purge the tsunami-sized wave of feeling cresting over him, to turn it on its face and let it drown someone else.

First his father, then mother. Now Hayner, Pence, and Olette.

Everyone always fucking left.

He waited for the lull between two painful apexes of feeling, then responded to Axel, his voice deceivingly calm as he spoke over an undertow of tortured realization.

"My friends are dead, and I'm tired."

The silence lengthened again. Without really caring, Roxas pondered the possibility of it becoming as drawn out as it had after Leon had spoken just before his departure. The scraping of a chair behind him broke the somber atmosphere before it had a chance to as fully settle. He heard a rustling behind him, noted Tifa as she moved more into his direct line of sight. A flash of gaudy scarlet indicated Rhea had also risen to follow her owner.

"Let's get you settled into your room for the night," Tifa said. Her voice was quiet, maybe sympathetic. As she spoke, she slid her arms back into her black gloves, flexing her fingers as she moved to tap Axel on the shoulder. "Then you and I can have a little chat to get me caught up on all of this."

"Right." With a sigh, Axel rose out of his chair.

Under different circumstances, Roxas might have spent time analyzing their words, trying to determine how they might relate to him. This day had pistol-whipped him one too many times though, and now all he could manage to acknowledge was the after-effects of feeling post-traumatically stunned into silence. As Tifa beckoned him to follow her toward the exit, Roxas didn't even think to turn back to the remaining dinner guests or address them in any way. Trailing behind Tifa and her redheaded enigma of a brother, Roxas walked without thinking, without speaking. It was a shell of a human being that left the dining hall that evening in Roxas' place.

After all, a part of his mind still capable of autonomous thought reasoned, friends and family weren't necessary to be alive, only to live something that resembled truly fulfilling. The longer he remained captive in this place, and the more he remembered about what little he truly had left waiting for him should he ever escape, the less the distinction between either seemed like it would even end up mattering to him at all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Interim II**

* * *

" _I've got the strangest feeling_  
_This isn't our first time around._ "  
"Past Lives" - BØRNS

* * *

He tore through the Annuate's lower levels, past the door that connected the building with others via a maze of extensive underground tunnels, zigzagging around the various glass cases displaying Elio's prized historical items without paying them any mind. Reaching the ancient stairwell that led toward the Walker family staff's living quarters, Roxas darted up them without a moment's hesitation, taking the ancient stairs two by two with the adeptness of someone well accustomed to avoiding the smoother, more slippery surface areas worn down with time.

In the distance, he could hear Axel sprinting, steadily gaining on him. Breathless, chest heaving, Roxas took off running the moment he cleared the final step, down the extended corridor, heading for the house's upper floors.

If this were a straightforward match of speed, Axel would easily outpace him in a matter of seconds, his long legs making up the half minute head-start that Roxas had been granted. This was nothing so simple though. For one of Faber John's storied children, nothing technically was.

As he reached the first level above ground, Roxas slowed to catch his breath, eyes darting around the residence to ensure he was alone. Still panting heavily, he closed his eyes and began to focus inward. His breathing gradually slowed. With wholehearted concentration, Roxas deeply inhaled.

_They'd been burning time at the fountain in Aeon Square, chatting with Demyx on a pleasant day after lessons had let out. Duration's final exams period had just ended for Axel and Demyx and both seemed eager to relax in their wake. Being exempt, Roxas hadn't been under the same kind of pressure, but tensions were high for the rest of Time City's graduating adolescents. These exams were important; they determined career paths, and whether the students remained in the city at all. Being a member from a Founding family wasn't sufficient to avoid the repercussions of scoring poorly; the city remained home only to those who earned their place. Being a Lee was meaningless if you had nothing to contribute. Roxas had heard the warning from Axel's parents more than enough times to be able to sympathize with the considerable pressure the Walker family heir was facing on a near continuous basis of late._

_"Time alive," Demyx said, "that translation section was rough. Universal symbols are so unnecessarily tedious." Perched on the edge of the fountain, he fluttered a few fingers through the water as he hummed a song that Roxas vaguely recognized as representative of Eighty-Seven Century's penultimate decade._

_"Yeah." Axel nodded, expression distracted. "And now we need to prep for the arrival of the polarities. Their keepers are supposed to be here sometime tomorrow."_

_Demyx looked up. "I almost forgot. That whole drawn-out ceremony's gonna be kind of torturous, isn't it?"_

_Brows knitting together, Roxas' lips thinned, subtly consternated. "More for me than you, I'm guessing."_

_A guilty look passed across Demyx's face almost immediately after his comment. "Damn, I'm sorry. I keep forgetting."_

_Roxas shrugged and shot Demyx a small smile to show he wasn't bothered. By his side, Axel snaked his hand around Roxas' waist, pulling him closer, an undebatably protective gesture._

_"The whole thing's totally weird. It's like finding out a fairytale's actually real or something," Demyx continued, eyeing his two friends before returning his attention to the fountain. "You've always just seemed like one of us, y'know?"_

_Feeling Axel's lips brushing gently at the crown of his head, Roxas looked up, giving the young man the opportunity to lean further down and actually offer a kiss._

_"Agh." Demyx made a dramatic, tortured sound. "Get a room, will you?"_

_Axel straightened, arm still around the slender waist of his friend. "That actually doesn't sound like a bad idea, Dem. With a brilliant mind like that, I'm guessing you aced those tests." Roxas could hear the teasing quality of Axel's tone. It was easy enough to visualize the smirk that likely followed, even though he couldn't see it from his current vantage point. His friend's hand trailing up the center of his back, Roxas lifted his chin, and Axel wasted no time kissing him again, this time with an open mouth._

_Slapping his hands over both eyes, Demyx mock-gagged. "I don't wanna seeeeee this. You two are disgusting. But cute," he conceded. Then, more pseudo-gagging. "But still disgusting."_

_Ignoring him, Axel glanced down at Roxas, the smirk still visible at the corners of his lips. "Race you back home? I'll give you half a minute before I start. That should be enough to catch up this time, right?"_

_Roxas raised an eyebrow, taking in Axel's challenge with wide, knowing eyes. "You never have before. Fifteen fewer seconds aren't going to make much of a difference."_

_Green eyes flickering above a good-natured expression, Roxas saw Axel's eye function refocus toward his anticipated destination. "We'll see. Better get a move on though," Axel said. "I've already started counting."_

When Roxas finally exhaled, the air around him was silent — an autonomously induced inertia. There was no indication that Axel was still running toward him, no rustling of ever-present Annuate staff doing chores. All was still, and every inch of his surroundings was tinted a pale, soothing blue.

He opened his eyes to air particles and sparkling, spidery strings, smile widening at the sight, feeling rawly exuberant. They had always been there, these silvery things, each its own little augury. This he'd intrinsically known. But, lately, he'd been more and more able to summon them into existence in a far more tangible sense. It was surreal. It gave him so many courses of action; it let him glimpse through so many invisible doors.

Practically skipping, Roxas explored one after the other, finding strings related to the afternoon, and to his and Axel's immediate future, with practiced ease. There was a lofty adeptness to his actions, an intricately unconscious choreography to his movements as he made his way closer to locating the first one he'd need. A soft sound, the weight of Axel's black boot against the stone floor, slowed to almost complete immobility, alerted Roxas of the redhead's general location. Dodging beneath strings not immediately germane to his present intentions, Roxas began making his way up the stairs, careful to keep his senses tuned so he wouldn't get too far ahead of Axel's preternaturally slow movements.

Part of him wanted to laugh, and another part to dance. The feeling bubbled up from his chest, replacing the somber realization that this was all going to end. Probably tomorrow, if he understood his part in the city's long overdue restoration process. Forcing the needling thought from his mind, Roxas made his way upward, turning a corner, down a long corridor overlooked by stained glass windows, then up another stairway toward Axel's bedroom. Each path he chose was a purposeful decision based on what he was seeing as his hands passed through ghostly temporal strands. The air was alive all around him, particles flickering, various futures exclusively his to peruse at leisure if he so chose. Today it was simply about beating Axel, of gauging which route the redhead would take in an attempt to catch Roxas at a game only one knew enough about the rules to be able to quite literally bend them to his every passing whim.

As he got closer to his destination, the air changed in a perceptible way, the colors around him shifting back to a more lively, fleshy shade. All around him the residence was waking as he gradually released his hold on the slowdown of what felt like the whole entirety of space. Hopping onto Axel's bed, Roxas made himself comfortable, unable to school his satisfied smile as, only a moment later, a flash of long limbs and red hair dashed through the door. Axel's dog had followed him upstairs close on his heels, his silver flanks rising and falling in time with his master's own heavy breathing, tongue lolling happily, unaware of the trick of time that had just been performed.

Spotting the animal, Axel's arm shot rigidly up, finger pointing toward the door. "Aeneas,  _out_."

The dog rose up, trotting through the doorway, the picture of obedience. With a snap of his wrist, Axel bid the door closed in the departing animal's wake.

Turning toward the bed, Roxas noticed how much Axel was panting, clearly having run all-out from Aeon Square to Annuate Palace. Noting Roxas' serene expression, in tandem with the measured rise and fall of easy breathing, Axel shook his head, red hair whipping in every direction, some even getting stuck to his forehead before he idly brushed it aside. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. I ran at full speed."

Roxas made a playful sound at the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like the suppression of laughter. "You should know by now that speed doesn't matter."

"Yeah, whatever." Grinning, Axel collapsed onto his bed, and Roxas scooted over to give him more space.

They laid next to one another in silence, the sound of Axel's labored breathing the only form of communication passing initially between them.

Finally catching his breath, Axel rolled from his stomach to his side, propping his chin into an open palm supported by one elbow. His breathing had slowed, was almost back to normal. The expression on his face told a story that hinted at more than mere curiosity.

"What's it like?"

Roxas glanced over at his friend, one eyebrow rising at the nebulous question.

"Being able to do that, I mean."

Wrapping his arms loosely around the knees he'd drawn up to his chest, Roxas met Axel's gaze with a steady one of his own. This wasn't the first time he'd been asked, not by Axel or myriad others in Time City proper. It was a fairly common question, and he supposed the curiosity was justified. The answer was considerably less straightforward, however. Roxas averted his eyes.

"It's hard to explain."

It wasn't just that, Roxas conceded. There was something private about the experience, almost intimate. Axel was his closest friend so he should have wanted to share. More than just a friend, even, but it still didn't feel right to tell. His life had always belonged to others, the terms carrying a definitive date of expiration no matter how easy it was to let himself forget it in the midst of people like Axel who felt like real friends. The strings were something all his own, the one gift he'd been given in exchange for a sacrifice he'd always known he would have to make. Talking about it felt increasingly sacrilegious the more often he stopped to consider it.

Idly, he wondered if tomorrow would change all that; he was curious to know if the other guardians shared his talent. Given the nature of his own ability, Roxas felt he really should have been able to find out that information well in advance.

Some things the strings were silent on, he'd discovered, or they opted to keep to themselves. No matter where he explored, no matter how many he pulled, he hadn't been able to find certain answers. After tomorrow, even more curiously, Roxas saw no future at all.

At least not for himself.

Turning toward Axel, Roxas leaned in, offering a kiss. Their lips met gently. It was a comfortable union between two people who had known each other since the day Roxas had been brought to the city, blue eyes wide and full of childish wonder, clasping tightly to his silver-haired escort's steadying hand. The Sempitern had been there to greet him, his lurid-haired son and soft-spoken wife accompanying him. Roxas had been welcomed, the key to a destiny that'd been pre-ordained long before his birth had been so much as foretold in popular legend. He'd been taken in, raised as a child of the city by a Founding family all the way to the present here and now.

Sometimes he'd let himself believe he was just like the others, the same as Axel and Demyx and Marluxia. He'd attended lessons with them, after all, was treated like the same sort of kitschy novelty by tourists and students studying abroad from other centuries.

Deep down, Roxas had always known the life he'd been given here was borrowed, that one day he'd have to pay them all back for allowing him this semblance of adolescent normalcy.

The kiss intensified, Axel rising up onto his knees while Roxas straightened his legs, allowing himself to be straddled, to have his chest pressed into the pillows beneath him.

"Could you do it now," Axel spoke in breathless tones between kisses, "with me here, on top of you?" Securing his knees on either side of Roxas, Axel lowered his own hips and began a deliberate, measured grind.

Breath hitching, Roxas bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent but lifted his hips to meet Axel's in return. One delicate eyebrow rising in mock inquiry, he trailed his lips away from Axel's mouth, then to his cheek, following the line of his jaw up to the edge of his ear. He exhaled a hot breath against the side of Axel's face. "Right now? Would you really even want me to?"

He felt the rise of Axel's lips more than he saw the smile.

"Okay, fair point."

Hand tangling in mussed-up hair, Axel tightened his grip, tilting Roxas' head back to give himself access to the pale skin of his neck.

As he began kissing a tender part of the boy's throat, Roxas groaned and tried to keep his train of thought from dissolving entirely. "Careful," he warned, the word a rush of breathless air. "Riku isn't going to be happy if I arrive tomorrow all marked up."

With a soft rumble, reminiscent of a growl deep from within his throat, Axel paused. "Fuck Riku."

Roxas stifled a chuckle, instead sliding his hand downward between their bodies, fingers teasing along the front of Axel's pants. He shot his friend a mildly reproachful look before his hand reached its destination. "I'd rather…" He squeezed gently. "…not."

Axel's eyes narrowed, green near to smoldering as he pressed against Roxas' hand with insistency, lifting his upper body higher to drive his hips down with more controlled force. His facial markings shimmered in the dimming light of the late afternoon — Sixties holographic technology at its finest, in Roxas' personal view. They complimented the already sharp lines of the young man's angular face, giving him a look of perennial ferocity.

Just as quickly as the lustful expression had formed, it dissolved in the wake of something more insecure.

"We're going to meet again, right? In your next life?" Axel's voice sounded unsure. Small. "That's what the legend says, doesn't it? That you'll come back?"

Roxas said nothing at first, just kept the rhythm of his hand steady, wishing somewhat futilely that it'd distract Axel away from this line of questioning. He'd gone through the possibilities so many times already. The strings had been silent on what lay ahead for him, so he'd doubled up on his efforts to see what Axel had in store after tomorrow came and passed. He'd gone through the possibilities for his friend so many times, Roxas could recite half a dozen of them from rote memory: Axel as Sempitern, taking over the duties of governing the city after his father retired, Axel self-destructing and opting for an Observer post far out in history to run away from the grief Roxas himself had been the catalyst behind. Axel dating Saïx until they both emotionally destroyed one another, Axel with Larxene for a flicker of an instant just for the sake of exploring his sexuality. There was even Axel letting grief fester into anger, finding some sort of fucked-up solace in tweaking history as needed by ending the lives of others who stood in the way of Chronologue's timeline preferences.

Roxas had seen every conceivable possibility for his friend from this moment forward. Even if he could manipulate the strings into swinging one way over the others, there was still a problem he couldn't get around: he didn't know which outcome was better. He just realized that when time swung its everlasting pendulum to a place where he could be himself again, it would be far after Axel's existence had already become the thing of memories, possibly even a legend itself.

Time itself was returning to its genesis, and all Roxas really knew was that, despite its abundance, there would never be enough to save them both.

If only he could have determined how to do more than simply see countless futures — if he'd become better adept at their manipulation — maybe he could perform his obligation to the city without having to destroy his closest friend in the process. He just didn't know how that was possible.

…and time was running so very short.

There was one thing Roxas was entirely sure of, however: in no uncertain terms could Axel be told any of this, at least not before it happened. No one could. Of that, Riku had been explicitly clear.

Abdominals tensing, Roxas moved his hand away from Axel's lap and pulled himself up, reaching for his friend. He planted a lingering kiss on the young man's jawline. " _Veniet tempus, veniet_ …" he said, the words silken, a promise meant to placate. He would make this evening memorable for Axel, a last minute oblation of affection and apology, both. Long after they were both gone, Roxas promised himself he'd remember it still. In the interim, he would remain alive in Axel's memories, of that he was sure. One day in the indeterminate future, he would offer Axel the courtesy of returning the favor. It was the least he could do for the impending grief he would no doubt suffer.

"The next life, yeah," Roxas affirmed. The lie came easily.

Dragging his free hand through thick, red hair, Roxas kissed the base of Axel's neck. He smiled at the longing sound his lips elicited. "Now shut up, you sentimental fool," he said, voice a husky whisper. "Kiss me again."


	13. Chapter 13

 

"I'm thinking about asking someone out."

The declaration seemed to come from nowhere, in the midst of a quiet study session one weekday afternoon. Lingering in the air long after its speaker had finished talking, it demanded attention the way a car alarm alerts everyone of its presence within a four city block radius.

Dutifully, Roxas looked up from his civics text and eyed Hayner from the spot he'd been lounging on his bed.

"Like, on a date?"

Swiveling to face him in Roxas' desk chair, Hayner shot his friend an impatient look. "No, to the next mathlete club meeting."

Roxas rolled his eyes before returning to the textbook laid out in front of him. "Don't be a dick. I was just clarifying."

"Don't ask questions with obvious answers and I won't need to be." Hayner reclined as far back as Roxas' desk chair would allow, his math homework abandoned, a mechanical pencil hanging out one side of his mouth.

"No, but seriously. I need some advice."

Sighing a little, Roxas didn't bother to look up. He had a social studies quiz in the morning, and Hayner's short attention span was going to risk him failing, or at least getting a lower grade than he found personally acceptable. As his mom and dad had repeatedly told him, it was never too early to start thinking about college. Despite the distance that separated them, it was the one thing both parents seemed to be in agreement about on an impressively consistent basis.

"Because I'm so experienced when it comes to asking girls out…"

Hayner mimicked the sigh, exaggerating it further to make it sound more tortured than the tired sound that Roxas had just offered up. "I'm aware you think you're a social reject of the highest order, you sarcastic shit. That's not what I wanted to ask about."

This did get his attention. Suppressing the urge sigh yet again, Roxas wedged a sheet of notepaper into his text to bookmark his place, then closed it before twisting over from his stomach into a more upright position.

He shot Hayner an expectant look. "I'm listening."

Instead of speaking, Hayner leaned forward, removing the pencil from his mouth before pressing his elbows into the tops of his bent knees. He jabbed the butt of his pencil a few times to extend the lead, then held his thumb down long enough to push it back in. "Dude, this is awkward."

"Why?" Roxas asked, brows rising as he watched his friend repeat the action with his pencil, noting that it was probably borne of some sort of nervousness, which really wasn't like Hayner at all. Although he wasn't the pinnacle of high school popular, Hayner was confident and made friends easily. Asking someone on a date really shouldn't have been a big deal for him, even if it was still a relatively untested undertaking.

A thought came to him and Roxas sat up a little straighter. "Is it someone older? Or, wait,  _younger_?" He shot his friend a mischievous grin. "Don't keep me hanging here. The possibilities are endless and I've always had  _such_  a vivid imagination."

He'd expected Hayner to glare at him, maybe, for the gentle rib, or at least tell him to go to hell or fuck off in an attempt to regain the verbal upper-hand. Instead, his friend cleared his throat, color rising to his cheeks, before he opened his mouth to answer.

"Actually, it's Olette."

Roxas froze, his own mouth half-open in surprise, a comical look of bewilderment flashing across his face.

That was… not what he'd been expecting.

Seeing the expression Roxas was shooting him, Hayner laughed, the sound awkwardly petering out as he scratched the back of his neck. His eyes rose to Roxas' ceiling fan, then darted around to various other parts of the room. "Don't look at me like that, man. It's not that bad."

When Roxas didn't immediately respond, Hayner glanced back down, his own carefully nonchalant expression faltering. "I mean…is it?"

"Um." Roxas stalled in an attempt to gather his thoughts. Hayner dating anyone on a more serious basis had never really featured in his active thought process on more than the most superficial of levels. His friend had taken girls to middle and high school dances before, sure, and at the back of his mind, he remembered that Hayner generally had no difficulty when it came to flirting or getting girls to notice him. Thinking about him doing couples-type things with Olette was a whole other level of weird that Roxas was having trouble completely wrapping his mind around though.

So much for that vivid imagination of his.

"I don't think bad is exactly the right word for it," Roxas said, choosing his words carefully. "It's, just, she's our  _friend_."

Hayner stopped his fidgeting, fixing Roxas with a steady look. "I get that. It's just, I mean, I feel like I'm starting to see her a little different lately. I dunno." He dropped his gaze again, down to the floor between them, the last few words low and mumbled. It was the most vulnerable Roxas had ever seen his best friend act, in public or private. "I suck at explaining stuff like this."

Swinging his legs at the edge of the bed, Roxas' expression turned thoughtful as he tried to envision seeing two of his closest friends doing relationship things. Holding hands: okay, he guessed. Kissing: kind of gross. Anything beyond that, he didn't really want to think about.

"Yeah," he murmured without much conviction.

"Hey." The tone of Hayner's voice made Roxas look up. His friend looked back at him, head slightly tilted as though he was trying to work something through in his mind. "Me thinking about asking her out isn't going to bother you, is it?" He pressed his lips together, a subtle indicator of his discomfort as he seemed to be working through what he wanted to say further. "Or even," he ventured, "be, like, a conflict of interest?"

Despite the awkwardness of the conversation, Roxas half-snorted. "I think you'd be better off worrying about that with Pence."

Hayner kept looking at him, apparently unconvinced, as though he thought Roxas wasn't quite being one hundred percent straight with him. "Pence got over his unrequited love in fourth grade," he murmured. Despite how seriously he seemed to be taking the conversation, a ghost of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. "No worries there."

Unsure what to say, Roxas kept quiet, until the air began to feel thick and stifling between Hayner and him. Sensing the increasing tension, Roxas tried to relieve it through the nonchalant action of flopping onto his back, knees bent and feet just grazing the floor, at the foot of his bed. "It seems like you've got all your bases covered then."

"You're sure?" Although he couldn't see Hayner's expression, Roxas could still feel his friend's eyes on him.

"You have my blessing, or whatever," he affirmed. "One hundred percent." He twisted back onto his stomach and reached for his civics book before glancing back Hayner's way. "Although, FYI, I reserve the right to be weirded out by this whole thing  _well_  into the future."

With a grin, Hayner twirled his mechanical pencil between two fingers and swiveled back toward the math homework on Roxas' desk. "Okay, cool. I owe you one, man." When Roxas didn't respond, he supplemented. "Like, if you need help hooking up with someone, just say the word. I know a decent number of the girls in our year."

Roxas took a moment to consider the offer, tried to visualize himself walking down the halls hand-in-hand with any of the classmates he figured Hayner could possibly be referencing. Something about the image seemed off to him, although it wasn't anything he was comfortable dwelling on. Cracking open his book again, Roxas slid out his notes and scanned the first line without really reading it.

"Thanks," he said, reaching for his own pencil. "But I think I'll pass for now."

* * *

"Master Roxas?"

The words were muffled, nearly inaudible, as though coming to him from a distance. Roxas didn't respond.

"Are you awake?"

This time, there was more volume to the inquiry. It pierced the membrane of heavy insentience as Roxas struggled to drag himself out from the lethargy of sleep and make an effort to reorient himself to his surroundings.

The room was dark. With the window shades not fully covering a line of sunlight filtering in from the opposite end of the room, it was also obvious that it was daytime. A quick scan of the room told him there was nothing particularly notable about the space where he had been sleeping, nothing that could help ground him more firmly in a specific time or place.

The voice, polite and sedate, was more memorable.

 _Elio_ , his mind offered up.

Then,  _Demyx_. … _and Axel_.

The abduction. Annuate Palace. Falling towers.

Oh, right. Life as he knew it was over.

Just like that, nothing really felt like it mattered again. He hadn't tried to escape the night prior, hadn't even attempted to make a run for the front door after Tifa had passed him off to another staff member on his way out of the dining hall. He hadn't cared anymore at that point, and he wasn't sure he cared now either. He just wanted to be left alone, needed some time to process the suffocating, all-encompassing grief that kept coming in waves every time he was conscious enough to process it.

Even his unconscious wasn't content to leave him be. His face felt flushed, the details of his dream half-filtering into his immediate thoughts, and Roxas had the good sense to feel embarrassed about the evidence of his lingering physical reaction. He'd been dreaming about making out with his abductor, and other …stuff. That had to be a new level of fucked in the head. The rest of the dream had been a jumble of incoherent words, with Axel's residence and Demyx's smiling countenance the only familiar aspects that'd made any remote sense.

"Master Roxas?" the voice came again. "I am sorry to impose, but may I enter?"

With a heavy sigh, Roxas finally offered an answer. "Yeah. Come in."

The word came out as a half-rasped mutter, the dryness in his throat only serving as a reminder of the Manhattan dust he'd inhaled during the cataclysm of the day before. As Elio entered, Roxas pushed the bedsheets down and swung his legs over the side of the bed, lips pursing into the hint of a testy scowl.

The man's steps were brisk, his arms holding a dark wooden tray as he made his way over to a small desk across from the bed. "Everyone has already eaten breakfast. It was decided to allow you as much time to sleep as was feasible," he said, bending slightly to place the tray on the desktop. "You may eat here, then dress, and make your way down to the main entry."

Roxas blinked, trying to force himself into a state of more alert wakefulness as he watched Elio, wide-eyed and wordless. The man continued to speak, seemingly unconcerned with Roxas' silent treatment.

"I assume you can find your way on your own. If not, simply press the notification pad by the door and I will return."

Stretching his arms in an attempt to work out the kinks of sleep and wake himself up a little more, Roxas' gaze passed over the band around his wrist. In light of the revelations of the night before, he was finding himself caring about its continued presence a whole lot less as time wore on.

"It has been determined that you should re-familiarize yourself with the city today," Elio continued, speaking in the same steady monotone. "Axel has agreed to be your guide this morning."

That did catch Roxas' attention. Before he could suppress the expression, his brows furrowed at the heels of a visible grimace.

So, he'd be seeing his own personal clown-haired kidnapper some more today after all. Fucking great.

Even that negative thought came out half-hearted in Roxas' mind. He just didn't have the energy to fully invest himself in any emotion right now. Apparently that included unadulterated distaste.

He felt like he should say something, rather than just sit at the edge of his half-invisible bed acting like a full-fleged deaf-mute. The problem was, quite simply, Roxas had no idea what was expected of him under these bizarre circumstances.

For his part, Elio didn't seem particularly bothered by Roxas' silence, and he continued speaking as though it was quite the norm to be having a one-sided conversation. "There are some clothes your size hanging in the wardrobe. Take your time eating. Axel will automatically be notified once you leave your room."

Finally, Roxas found his voice. He could have thanked Elio for breakfast, might have considered explaining how he needed some time alone today to process the agonizing emotions of loss and grief pulsing within the deepest region of his chest.

What came out instead was a considerably deadpan, "I hate these clothes."

Although Elio's expression didn't change, the confession felt rude to Roxas, his tone unnecessarily harsh. Despite having woken up feeling like a singular shade of 'slept like utter shit', Roxas found himself wanting to soften the impudent declaration in some way.

"It's just, they're uncomfortable because they feel different from what I'm used to."

"Of course." Elio nodded. "I can look into locating fabric that is more to your liking. In the interim, you might consider simply wearing the clothing you arrived in."

"I… what?" Roxas blinked, not sure he'd heard Elio exactly right.

"Master Demyx had your Twenty-One century clothing brought to the Annuate. They have been cleaned and mended and were placed in the closet when this room was prepared for your arrival last night."

Oh. That made sense — and was actually kind of …thoughtful. They weren't the nicest clothes, by any means, but they were miles better than freak-tastic sparkling diamond pajamas. Worlds of improvement, even.

In that moment, although his expression didn't change and he didn't say anything publicly, Roxas decided that, of everyone he'd encountered so far in the twenty four hours since his abduction, he liked Elio best.

Elio turned, regarding Roxas with the same placid expression en route to the door. "I will leave you to your meal and preparations." As he passed the bed where Roxas was still sitting, he slowed just a little. "Things will get easier, if I may opine on the matter, sir."

Roxas looked up, surprised at the comment. Elio's tone hadn't changed, but the words seemed to hold additional reassuring warmth.

"I am also available," Elio continued, brows rising just slightly in an expression of subtle empathy, "should you need a sounding board or begin to feel in any way overwhelmed."

The man continued on, taking his leave before Roxas had time to formulate a response.

He remained in place at first, sitting at the edge of the bed, pondering Elio's parting words.

Really, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep at this point. The thought of seeing Axel rankled, of interacting with anyone at the moment, actually. He had no appetite, no interest in even leaving this prison of a room at present. The only thing that had spoken to him even just a little was the mention of his old clothing, or being able to wrap himself up in something even remotely familiar.

Sighing again, Roxas stood. Passing the desk on his way to the closet, Roxas glanced at the breakfast Elio had brought to him. With mild surprise, he noted that everything on the plate was recognizable: Pancakes, fruit, and what looked like a glass of orange juice. What a complete departure from the night before.

Not that it really mattered.

As he got within a few paces of the closet, its doors opened of their own volition, revealing a line full of the same pajama-like clothing he was still wearing now. They appeared to be floating, no actual hangers required. Scanning the available options, Roxas' gaze fell on the familiar colors of his work uniform, folded neatly on a shelf above the bobbing apparitions that passed for clothes here. He reached up and retrieved them, grateful to see something he recognized from his life back home.

He changed quickly, relieved to see that the clothes were not only clean but that the pant leg had been mended to the point where he couldn't even find where the tear had originated. Finally up out of bed and feeling the most like himself since his arrival, Roxas headed over to the desk and decided to make an attempt at eating breakfast.

Pulling out a chair, he sat and considered the food in front of him, eyes traveling over it, still feeling mildly hesitant. He didn't genuinely believe it was meant to be anything other than nourishment, but the memory of Zexion's claim that he'd been drugged still lingered, and the only conclusion Roxas could reach was that Axel had somehow managed to slip something into his food or drink on their last dinner together before he'd been brought here.

It didn't really make sense to drug him when Elio had just mentioned an impending tour of his new surroundings. With his matter of fact statements and polite, respectful demeanor, Elio also didn't strike him as someone with an inclination to lie.

Beyond the small food tray, Roxas noted his cell phone and wallet placed one on top of the other at the very far edge of the desk. He assumed he must have removed them from his pockets yesterday before bed but couldn't remember off-hand. He'd been too overwhelmed by memories that seemed just as keen to assault his vulnerable psyche as Axel had been in the act of physically transporting him here in the first place.

He took a tentative bite of a strawberry, felt relief when the taste was as he'd expected, then took another. There was no way he was going to be able to eat all of what Elio had provided considering how he was currently feeling, but he'd at least give it a sincere effort. Seeing Axel on an empty stomach just didn't seem like the brightest of ideas, particularly if he wanted to be at his most alert, Roxas figured. From there, he tried his best to stop thinking about his impending meeting and began to eat what he was able to.

Soon finished, Roxas stood again. He reached for his wallet and phone, fingers curled around the familiar shapes of both as he wandered over to the window located directly opposite his bed. Once there, he paused, regarding the line of sunlight peeking through otherwise dark, heavy shades. He didn't really need to open it; the room's lights had been increasing in brightness since the moment Elio had entered and were at a comfortable luminosity already.

Still, he was more than a little curious.

Reaching forward, grasping the thick, velveteen material of the shades that, yet again, seemed just to be floating without being attached to so much as a rod above him, Roxas drew them back, letting as much of the late morning light into the room as was possible.

He leaned forward, bracing his upper body, elbows locked and palms down on the window's sill, and got his first view of the outside world.

This …was not Manhattan.

It didn't even remind him of any of the neighboring buroughs. With cobbled stone streets and single family residences that looked hundreds of years old, the closest comparison Roxas could summon was to a small New England town.

Even that was an inapt approximation. It was hard to put his finger on it, but something just seemed off. Or a few things. It was like Roxas was looking through glass that was offering a slightly distorted view of reality, something so subtle that only having seen the original example could possibly have tipped him off to the distinctions between it and what he was currently seeing.

There were no birds. That was one of the most obvious differences and something he vaguely remembered Demyx telling him the day before. No birds meant no bird sounds that he was so accustomed to hearing back home, even though the window was cracked enough to be able to hear outside sounds from nearby. He tried to put his finger on what else was off with zero success, the silent admission that he couldn't solve that minor mystery just as unsettling as knowing something was different in the first place.

Looking down, Roxas lifted his sole two belongings to eye level, focusing first on the phone. He pressed the power without any hope that there would be a signal, even now that he was above ground.

There wasn't. And, having been left on all night, he was down to about one-third of its full battery life. With a quiet sigh and the primary objective of saving what little charge was left, Roxas powered it off and slid it back into its rightful place in his pants pocket.

He turned his attention to the wallet next, flipping it open and holding it in both hands like a small book. In a way, it was a story, one of the few things that spoke of his true identity and life outside this bewildering place. Eyes scanning his student ID, a debit card, monthly transit pass, and a few other assorted discount cards he'd picked up on trips to his favorite food spots, Roxas slid a finger into the billfold and spread it open to take in its contents without much outward interest. There were just a few low-value bills nestled in between two worn pieces of leather and lining fabric.

And a photo that had once been seen as an obstruction, what had become a cast-off for one parent and then later a cherished memento to his son.

Roxas pulled it out and studied the smiling family captured in Polaroid perpetuity, accepting the dull ache in his chest as his eyes passed over both of his parents, before they paused on his own, youthful face.

He'd been so happy that day, Roxas remembered with acute clarity. His dad had managed to get a Friday off of work for the first time in ages, and his mom had let him have a double scoop of ice cream, even though dinner was fast approaching. The weather had been hot but the breeze kept it from being too stifling, sand warm on bare feet, the shoreline water crisply cold, refreshing.

He'd been so happy, Roxas allowed himself to acknowledge again, but he'd also been so very naive. A day trip one state north hadn't been enough to fix a marriage that was already cracking at the foundation stone. It hadn't stopped the bickering, the hushed but angry exchange of words after his parents had thought he'd already fallen asleep each night. Deep down, Roxas knew he'd even been residually aware of that then, even if his younger self hadn't wanted to fully appreciate it and follow it to its logical conclusion.

In this perplexing situation, among people who treated him kindly but were holding him against his will, Roxas realized that he was perpetuating the same head-in-the-sand mentality now.

No matter how much he wanted to forget the terror of the events that had taken place yesterday, to blot out the faces of each of his friends and let the foreignness of his current surroundings wash over him and allow him to forget, he knew he shouldn't. In fact, he couldn't help but think that, in so doing, it was nothing short of an insult to his friends' memories, that one of the most egregious offenses would be to allow himself a measure of blissful ignorance when it came to that, specifically.

He'd been doing it with his mom and her illness for the better part of a year. Deep down, Roxas knew he didn't have the energy to put up a similar front when it came to Hayner, Pence, and Olette.

With that in mind, he looked out the window again, and slipped the photo back into his wallet's billfold, then turned. Without another glance at anything else in the room, Roxas made his way toward the door, toward Axel, and whatever this new world had in store for him.

o - o

As he made his way back toward the entry foyer, Roxas began to mentally prepare himself for his next encounter with Axel. He'd run through what he might say, how he should act. The possibilities seemed virtually endless, but then so did the journey.

This so-called home where Axel apparently lived wasn't exactly small.

Really, without the help of a few members of the household staff, Roxas probably would have found himself hopelessly lost and wandering in circles around the upper levels until time collapsed onto itself and Axel's flame-red hair turned a dull shade of lusterless grey. Each hall looked the same, every door essentially identical and emblazoned with what looked like one indistinguishable ornate crest after the other.

Let Axel wait though, as far as Roxas was concerned, while he navigated down one stairway and then another. Any little ounce of discomfort he could offer up was fine by him at this point. Even if it was petty, it felt good to feel like he was in control of even something as arbitrary as the time he made it to their predetermined meeting place.

He didn't want to stop and think that the reason it felt good was because it was the only small facet of his life he had any form of jurisdiction over at the moment.

He'd settled on aloof and apathetic as his attitudes of choice, had just stored away a few nominal comments that would work in response to a variety of questions or statements, when he turned the final corner to a stairwell that overlooked the entryway.

What Roxas hadn't factored into any of his calculations about personality choices or acerbic responses was that Axel might not be waiting for him downstairs alone.

Clad in the same long black coat Roxas had seen him in yesterday, Axel was standing right about where Tifa had first appeared before last night's dinner, hands in his pockets, looking down — with Demyx standing right beside him.

While Axel remained stock still, a veritable statue in the entryway, Demyx was all bouncy, jittering movement, like he didn't possess the self-control to stand still for even a moment. He was whistling an unfamiliar melody, eyes traveling the space with familiarity, an eager expression gracing boyish features. Like a little kid, Roxas observed, except with a mullet.

With Axel's eyes downcast, it was Demyx who spotted him first, eyes homing in on him when Roxas was about halfway down the stairs. Catching Roxas' gaze, Demyx waved, beckoning him over, like he was trying to catch his attention in a crowded room.

Because there were  _so_  many other people around at the moment that might make it hard for Roxas to see two tall near-strangers dressed like emo vampires in the entry of what amounted to a palace masquerading as a single-family house…

Roxas made his way down to them both without a word, taking in a stoic, unmoving Axel alongside his much more animated companion.

"You made it." Demyx was practically beaming as he clasped his hands together in front of him. "This is gonna be such a blast. Have you eaten yet?"

Still taken a little aback by Demyx's radiating exuberance, particularly in comparison to how he was still aching every time even the smallest of thoughts turned to his family and friends, Roxas found himself just staring at first. Wordlessly, he nodded.

"Ah, okay." Demyx seemed to deflate a little. "We'll save the butter pies for later then."

Axel made a sound at the back of his throat, half-cough, half a scornful sort of laugh, Expression practiced and tensely set, Roxas' attention moved away from the mullet-sporting blond to fix on red hair, green eyes, and the increasingly familiar purple marks below both. Returning his look with a level one of his own, Axel jerked his head toward the door, chin rising in a sharp, diagonal line. "Let's get going."

So they left.

They exited the over-sized residence and ended up out on the cobbled stone street Roxas had seen from his bedroom window. That's when Roxas made his second observation about the differences between this place and what he'd always known to be his own urban Manhattanite world.

There were no cars, not even parked.

Absent a boatload of money to throw at a permanent garage space or bank account crippling monthly parking rates, Manhattan wasn't the greatest place in the world to own a car. Even though Roxas himself had never owned one and didn't so much as have his drivers license, that hadn't stopped so many other people in the city from driving them and glutting the roads with plumes of fuel. The city was bursting with vehicles from beaters that looked like they'd come out of a B-list 80s movie to cars that rivaled his private university's annual tuition fees.

As they wound their way up and out of a small cul-de-sac and onto a larger, more open outdoor space, Roxas saw plenty of streets, but there were pedestrians walking in them, apparently unmindful of the distinction between roads and sidewalks.

"We'll take you through Aeon Square, into Secular, and then on over to Millennium." Axel spoke without looking back, his walking strides long enough that Roxas had to half-jog to keep up. "We got a late start," he continued, voice still irritatingly one-note, like he was reciting lines from a pre-planned script, "so some of this tour will end up being cursory, at best."

It wasn't just his tone that was off-putting. Eyes fixed up in the direction they were traveling, Axel wasn't even looking at him, like it wasn't even worth the effort to talk to him directly. If pressed, Roxas would never have been able to explain his gut response, but the further they walked, the more fury began to build in his chest, behind his eyes, pulsing, vehement.

Axel had abducted him, had thought he was important. Now the same man was acting like he was an irritation, a burden he'd resigned himself to having to live with and apparently tote around this weird-ass city. And all the while, Demyx practically skipped beside them, either wholly oblivious to the dark mood both of his companions were in or willfully ignorant, possibly.

They passed a fountain in the middle of a nearby square, Roxas processing its presence from a mere side glance. It was enough to make him hesitate, to slow his pace so he could take a closer look and note a beat later that there wasn't anything unusual about it. It was made of stone and flowing water, with complementing embellishments in what might've been marble and copper. He'd even spotted the twinkle of coins scattered across the bottom, just like something he might have seen back home.

Still, Roxas couldn't help but feel like it was more than just a familiar feeling about the outdoor architecture that had made him pause.

_Finals. Humming. A possessive embrace. Sixties holographic technology at its finest._

They were fast leaving him behind, but Roxas remained rooted in place, still studying the fountain, brows furrowed and head subtly cocked. It was Demyx who ultimately noticed that they were down one member of their party, Demyx who reached for Axel's elbow and got him to stop and turn.

"Hey!" The word came out barked, harsh. It made Roxas flinch, despite his best efforts to school his body into its former stillness.

Axel was looking at him, eyes slightly narrowed. "We don't have time for this," he called, and Roxas felt the prickling of discomfort in his limbs as he pulled identical words from his memory of the traumatic events from just a day ago. Seemingly oblivious to the significance of the sentence he'd just uttered, Axel gestured toward himself and Demyx. "Keep up, will you?"

The intense feeling of pent-up anger returned. Visibly scowling, Roxas took one last glance at the fountain, hoping the subversive action would send a clear message to Axel, then turned heel and sprinted toward both men. He supposed he could've tried to make a run for it. Again. But where the hell he could even run to when he was in an unfamiliar environment was currently beyond him, and not a risk he wanted to place bets on. Considering he could hardly keep pace with a walking Axel, Roxas also didn't want to test how he'd fare in a one-on-one sprint for freedom, especially not when the stakes felt so high for him.

Instead, he huffed his way back up to the pair, circling around to stand at Axel's side where the man had initially gestured. They started walking again, out of the square and into a small open-air pathway that led to another cobbled stone outdoor space with slightly larger buildings that hinted at commercial marketplaces.

Maybe it was the grief, possibly a resounding lack of sleep, but Roxas wasn't in the mood to deal with anything right now, least of all a rude abductor with the name of some sparkly ice skating trick or his blond side-kick whose hair reminded him of some shitty 80s grunge band drummer.

"Tattoos, fire, kidnapping unsuspecting teenagers." He ticked off the short list and was rewarded with a flicker of green as Axel glanced sideways at him. "You seem to think you're a real badass." His voice was low and biting, expression at this point positively glowering. "But that ink's not even real, so how about you take a moment, lay off me, and get the fuck over yourself?"

_And suck on that, you churlish asshole._

Rant over, Roxas shoved his hands into his pockets in one violent motion, then set his gaze ahead in the direction they were walking. He didn't bother to look up as he felt a subtle change to Axel's gait beside him, couldn't possibly have known that Demyx was grinning with unmitigated delight just a few feet over.

And this was exactly why Roxas didn't see green eyes falter, if only for a moment, as Axel's expression transformed from one of practiced indifference to outright astonishment in his unanticipated assertion's wake.


End file.
